Play the Game
by RhiannonoftheMoon
Summary: Fae love a good game, and Jareth is no exception. He might have lost the last one, but this time, victory seems assured and the prize is within his grasp. There is no way he can fail! Right? J/S
1. Ordinary Boys and Girls

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth and don't make any money off it.

Summary: Fae love a good game, and Jareth is no exception. He might have lost the last one, but this time, victory seems assured and the prize is within his grasp. There is no way he can fail! Right? J/S

Chapter 1 –Ordinary Boys and Girls

Jareth, Goblin King and Lord of the Labyrinth, was bored. He might have been bored _silly_ if he hadn't been a bit silly already. As it was, he was sprawled across his rather uncomfortable bone throne staring at the ceiling where one of his Goblins had gotten hung by the back of his vest on an ornate brass candelabrum. The events leading up to his hanging would have been passably amusing if Jareth hadn't already had hundreds of years of Goblin antics to numb him. However, he did feel a tiny bit sorry for the chicken.

The throne room hummed with activity. A ragged circle of Goblins sat in one corner playing a game of cards. Jareth had no idea what game they were playing; only that it somehow involved shoving folded cards up one's nose. Several Goblins had both nostrils stoppered, and one had managed to fit three cards into one nostril, all unfolded.

And his peers wondered why he never used the chess set he had received for one of his birthdays.

Jareth snorted. Even if the chess pieces hadn't found their ways into a Goblin's nose, there was no one in Labyrinth with whom he'd like to play.

The Goblin on the candelabra had stopped struggling an hour ago and was now simply hanging limply as he snored in slumber. His body swung slightly when a particularly healthy draft blew through the throne room, fluttering the tufts of wiry hair that grew from his large misshapen ears. Jareth sighed heavily. Now, he would have a crick in his neck from the awkward angle in which it was bent. He didn't move, however. Not even when the draft circled the throne room, stirring up dust, straw, feathers and a scent distressingly similar to that of a dead skunk.

"Jareth," the wind reproached when it had finally settled next to the throne and assumed the form of a tall, lean man with impossibly long hair so black that it shone blue in the candlelight. Moving only his eyeballs, Jareth fixed the man with a bored, mismatched stare. "Moping again?"

"I do not mope," Jareth corrected him in an imperious tone. He would have thought that Draconus had figured that out by now. No one who could move stars, reorder time, or turn worlds upside down would have the indignity to _mope_.

"Could have fooled me," Draconus said as he rested a forearm against the edge of the throne and leaned against it. His tight red leather jacket creaked as he moved, and the fringe on his single epaulette danced merrily.

"You _are_ a fool," Jareth said, frowning at him. He would have to revamp his wardrobe again. If Draconus were imitating his style of dress, then the rest of the Underground must already be sporting tight pants and glitter. At least ordering new clothes would give him something to do.

Draconus continued as if he had never spoken. "If you aren't moping, then perhaps you'd like to have a bit of sport."

"Yes, because it turned out so smashingly last time," Jareth muttered, absently flicking his wrist to conjure a crystal orb, then flicking it again to banish it. _"Let's have a bit of sport,"_ Draconus had said when he'd caught Jareth watching _her_ in his owl form. Technically, he had croaked it, because Draconus had been a sleek black raven. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he had ended up with a smashed ballroom, traumatized guests, a throne room full to brimming with injured Goblin soldiers, and wounded pride. He had lost both the baby and the girl, and Draconus had won an entire month of Goblin labor. He wouldn't even go into the state of his heart.

Draconus clucked his tongue, then pushed Jareth's legs off the throne, seating himself on the newly vacated edge. "Jareth, Jareth. What do you do when you fall off the horse?" Jareth briefly considered kicking him, but instead slumped into his throne the right way around, refusing to answer. "You get back on!" Draconus exclaimed as if he were revealing some glorious pearl of wisdom. Scowling, Jareth conjured another crystal and rolled it across his knuckles.

"Or," Draconus said with a sigh, "you could play with your balls."

Clenching his teeth, Jareth tossed the orb into the air, where it popped out of existence with a twinkle of light. He rose from his throne and stood haughtily facing Draconus, King Under the Mountain. Propping his gloved fists on his hips, he glared down his aristocratic nose at the Fae still seated on the edge of his throne. "I'm a busy man, Draconus, and you are irritating. Say what you came to say, then leave."

Smiling a sharp-toothed smile, Draconus rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "How was she able to do it, do you suppose?" he asked, his golden eyes glittering like two doubloons.

"She had help," he snapped; help that had marinated in the Bog of Eternal Stench after an impromptu victory party on _her_ bed. He hadn't been invited. Had he, there would have been a lot less jumping on the bed, but much more mattress abuse. Jareth's frown deepened as Draconus' smile stretched into a wicked grin.

"And without that help, she never would have made it to the castle to reject you?" Draconus' eyes were positively burning now.

"She wouldn't have _stumbled_ upon my castle to _reclaim_ her brother."

"Of course," Draconus said as he lifted his hands palm up in a pacifying gesture. Jareth didn't trust him for an instant. "And if placed in a similar position, you could defeat her with ease."

"Of course," Jareth snapped, tired of this conversation and ready to toss Draconus into the hedge maze onto his tights-clad ass.

"Would you like to wager on that?"

The question hung in the air for a moment like one of his crystal balls, mesmerizing, full of promise, but undoubtedly dangerous. Jareth knew that he _shouldn't_ like to wager on that. Bets with Draconus rarely ended well for anyone but Draconus. Unfortunately for Jareth, the Fae blood that compelled Draconus to instigate bizarre and spectacular wagers was the same blood that urged Jareth to accept gambles that never paid out. He _loved_ a good game. He also had a lingering fondness (Goblin Kings did _not_ suffer from broken hearts) that could not be eradicated with any amount of musical performance, Goblin tossing, claiming of wished-away children, or twirling of crystal balls.

For the endlessly long, yet indefinably brief amount of time since she had left Labyrinth, he'd wanted to follow her back to the mortal realm to see if she might reconsider his offer, or better yet, trick her into returning to the Underground. The former sounded too much like begging to his taste, and he hadn't quite gotten around to the latter – it was difficult to come up with something suitably devious when one was attempting to force order down the very throat of chaos.

"What are the terms?" he asked, despite his good sense telling him to suggest Draconus take a flying leap into a flatulent bog.

"In thirteen days, you must run her labyrinth and capture her heart. Succeed, and I will bring her to the Underground. She'll be yours."

Jareth tried to approach this wager logically; he really did. He _knew_ that making a bet with Draconus was a Bad Idea. He knew that Draconus, alone among the Fae, could relocate a mortal that hadn't explicitly wished it (it had something to do with his magic being deeply rooted into the bowels in the earth, but Jareth had never asked for clarification). Once in the Underground, Jareth could work the magic that would change a mortal to a permanent resident. He also knew that Sarah couldn't have much of a labyrinth – it took vast amounts of enchanted real estate that simply wasn't available in the mortal realm. "How would it be determined that I had 'captured her heart?'" he asked carefully. That was the tricky part and was also the most vague element of the challenge.

"Three kisses, freely given." Draconus pulled a thin gold chain from a pocket in his jacket. At the lowest point of the loop, three faceted round gems, a ruby, a sapphire and a diamond, twinkled brightly in the torchlight. It wasn't particularly pretty; Draconus had a mountain of treasure, but no taste. "With each kiss, a gem will vanish. When the chain is empty…" He kissed the tips of his fingers and then splayed them out, releasing a shimmering puff of glitter. Extending the chain, he leaned forward so that Jareth would simply have to raise his hand to grasp it.

Eying the necklace as if it were stung with dung instead of gems, Jareth asked, "And if I lose?"

Draconus shrugged idly, as if it were of no consequence. "Nothing you can't afford. I'm thinking that it is time to get an heir and prepare for retirement. I'll choose the mortal, and you will make it one of us."

Tapping a finger against his chin, Jareth repeated, "Three kisses." For one as irresistible as himself, three kisses should be nothing. The girl would have grown into a woman by now, and would no longer be able to hide behind innocence and naiveté.

'And he wants one of the wished-away babies,' Jareth mused. As he had plenty of Goblins, Draconus was welcome to them. Young Goblins were always such a nuisance, anyway; putting everything in their mouths, peeing in the throne room instead of in the garden fountain. This bet would be a piece of cake, as some would say. Just the same, there seemed to be something he was forgetting, something critical to spending blissful eternity with the mortal woman who had stolen his heart.

'Kissing Sarah,' he mused. That was Good. 'Draconus brings her to the Underground.' Also Good. 'She stays forever.' He just couldn't find the Bad.

His finger stilled its tapping. It _was_ far too easy. He should turn around and walk away. Tensing his muscles, he moved to do just that. Instead, he found the chain dangling from his fingertips and Draconus fading out of sight, grinning like a Goblin.

"Oh, and Jareth," Draconus whispered as his wind form flowed over the throne and down the steps, "those gems will know if her heart is in it. And _no magic_ in front of the humans."

Cursing colorfully, Jareth flung the necklace after the retreating breeze, only to have it spin in the air and hurtle back towards him, wrapping around his neck.

There was a very big difference between kisses "freely given" and actually _heartfelt_.

* * *

Sarah, B list actress and the current lead for a children's fantasy film that was sure to do abysmally at the box office, remembered with fondness the days she had been able to appreciate boredom. The nights she had read novels into the wee hours of the morning instead of memorizing scripts. The hours spent altering costumes with needle and thread instead of sitting for fittings. The long afternoons whiled away running through the park with her dog as she played pretend instead of sitting on a stationary bike burning off the calories she had consumed that day. The lazy mornings spent sitting on the patio of the corner coffee shop while Toby complained about his homework instead of being perched on an uncomfortable chair in an over-priced café listening to the her director pitch his next project while leering down her blouse.

Sarah suppressed a sigh and nodded at what seemed an appropriate moment as she tuned out the prattle of Phil, her current director.

"_Let him take you to dinner,"_ her agent, Margot (Sarah would bet good money that her driver's license read "Margaret"), had said. _"It's good for business; you know he's got another film in the works. And wear that blue blouse that barely hides your tits."_

Sarah had allowed Phil to take her to dinner. She had worn the blue blouse, ensuring that Phil's eyes hadn't crept above her sternum. She had even allowed him to order for her. She refused, however, to listen to him. She'd heard it all before, and it had ceased to excite her after the first few times hearing it.

This was not how she had pictured her life when she had decided to move to California to pursue her dreams. Hollywood had seemed as magical a place as Labyrinth, its denizens as multifaceted and colorful as the creatures that she had met on her journey to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City. She would make loyal friends and face dangers head-on, finally reaching the innermost sanctum of the Hollywood elite and become one of the shining stars of the silver screen! Or primetime television. Either one.

The reality had been several years of scraping cash by waiting tables and working as a stand-in for a well-known actress to finance the days she had to take off to make auditions. Her big break had finally come when the first choice for a decent role in a made-for-television movie had overdosed, leaving the part to Sarah. She now had a reputable agent, several credits to her name, and a tiny apartment in a neighborhood in which she felt somewhat safe to walk after dark. By Hollywood standards, she was doing all right – at least she didn't have to wait tables anymore.

Phil suddenly laughed, a contrived sound that grated on her nerves, but obligingly, she laughed with him. Waving over the waitress, who eyed her with obvious envy, he ordered them another round of drinks.

"So tell me about _Sarah Williams_. What winds her clock?" Phil drawled and leaned forward, meeting her eyes for one of the first times that night. He was what many would consider handsome: dark eyes rimmed with coal-black lashes, strategically tousled dark hair streaked with golden highlights, and a fashionably almost-scruffy five o'clock shadow. Lean and toned, his clothes were casual yet obviously expensive, and fit him as if they had been tailored to his body.

Fixing him with a deep green-eyed stare from behind thick dark lashes, Sarah smiled a smile that wrapped superficial men such as Phil around her pinky. "A key," she purred.

Phil blinked at her, cocking his head, and his eyes beginning to glaze over. "A key?"

"A small golden key," she confirmed. Absently, his hands drifted to the pockets of his artfully ripped jeans, and she said, "You won't find it in there."

She almost felt sorry for the man when his eyebrows pinched in confusion. Truth be told, very few men could pull that golden key from their pockets. There was something about having danced in the arms of the Goblin King in a whip of meringue that had spoiled Sarah to ordinary men. Her last boyfriend had transformed into a cat every new moon. When she had discovered his little furry problem, she had taken it in stride. It wasn't until he had begun to leave hairballs in the bed that she had had an issue. The vomit in her new Italian leather pumps had been the last straw, and she had tossed his away-from-home sandbox out her second story window, along with his toothbrush and collection of CDs.

Sometimes, she wondered what would have happened if she'd taken the Fae up on his last offer. Since that day, she had learned that all things were negotiable, and she probably could have made out much better if she had put some effort into it. _His Majesty_ certainly wouldn't have puked in her shoes.

Phil had recovered quickly from his befuddlement by launching into an in-depth analysis of the scenes they were to film the next day. Stifling a yawn behind her hand, Sarah tried to blink the glaze from her eyes. She was _not_ excited about tomorrow's scenes any more than she was excited about the rest of the movie. Most of her costars were Muppets, for fuck's sake. _Muppets_. Not even mocap or CGI. The only reason she had signed on was because she had bills to pay.

That it had much in common with a certain impossible event from her teens didn't concern her as much as it might have other people. Strange things happened to Sarah with regular frequency, even if one didn't count the boyfriends. In fact, if she had a stretch of several weeks where she didn't have an eerily prophetic dream, her neighbor's dog didn't enthusiastically greet her in what sounded like English (to her ears alone), or she didn't manage to open the car (in which she had just locked her keys) with determination and a curse, she began to worry. That the magic in her life was connected to said event she didn't doubt; Labyrinth had left a mark on her soul as surely as had its King. However, that did not mean that she was particularly enthusiastic about playing a woman with more boobs than brains running a maze while being taunted by various creatures made out of latex and terry cloth. If this was the kind of thing that kids watched these days, then she wasn't all that surprised by the low average test scores of American youth.

"And just wait until you meet your new co-star. He's a Brit who has done more singing than acting, but I don't think that will be a problem."

Phil's comment reached her through her introspection, and she focused her gaze on his face. "New co-star? What happened to Erik?" she asked.

Phil shrugged and took a sip of his martini. "His agent called last night and said that he had gone to Tibet to 'find himself.' Thank god we hadn't started shooting his scenes yet."

Sarah frowned, tapping a short, manicured nail against the stem of her martini glass. "Erik didn't seem the type," she said finally, her tone carefully disinterested to belie the sudden apprehension that had settled in the pit of her stomach like a bad burrito. She had learned to trust these kinds of feelings from hard-learned lessons, but she had no idea how the changing of a co-star could be so ominous.

Shrugging again, Phil finished his martini in one gulp and then leaned forward, a leer twisting his well-formed lips. "I have his latest demo. Would you like to come back to my place and have a listen?"

'Ah, so finally the shoe drops,' Sarah thought as she stifled a sigh. Though she had been expecting it, the inevitable pass was always such a nuisance. Letting the magic that had become in integral part of her being rise to the surface of her skin, she met his gaze directly and smiled. Phil smiled back, a glassy glaze forming over his eyes.

"What is his name?" she asked, her voice acquiring an almost inaudible tone that resonated in the crystal of their glasses. Before she had learned this trick (and it had been quite by accident, saving her a three hundred dollar speeding ticket), she had had to make excuses to bow out of such a rendezvous; more than once, it had cost her a boost to her career. Phil didn't stand a chance; she would simply dazzle him into distraction. She was not playing fair, but she had learned that that life was often unfair. It was a pity that she couldn't dazzle her way into more promising roles.

"His name?" Phil asked, his face blank with the force of her entrancement.

"My new co-star," she prompted patiently. Men's brains often dribbled out of their ears when they fell under her spell.

"Oh." Phil blinked dazedly several times as he visibly tried to fish the name from his memory. "I can't quite remember. It's on the tip of my tongue…" his eyes glazed over as his thoughts turned inward. Finally, he shrugged. "…Jacob or Garth or… something. How odd; I always remember a name."

Frowning, Sarah downed her martini in one long gulp. The unease twisted in her stomach despite the alcohol cushion with which she was attempting to line it. Did this mean that the film was doomed to run over budget or that a piece of rigging would fall on her head? Maybe her apartment was burning down? Or perhaps she had simply forgotten to pay her DSL bill, and she would come home to a computer that wouldn't connect to the Internet? Sometimes she _hated_ these intrusions of magic into her life; they should come with a user's guide at the very least. Whatever the cause of her portentous indigestion, she couldn't stand to stay in the restaurant. Her couch sang a siren song to her (assuming it wasn't smoldering in the ruins of her apartment), and she was fairly sure that she had the remnants of a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream in her freezer.

Smiling a smile that would leave poor Phil dazzled stupid for the next five minutes, she excused herself from the table. He grinned dopily up at her, giving her a wave as she threaded through the tables. He wouldn't miss her for too long if the looks their waitress had been shooting him was any indication.

'And here she comes,' Sarah thought as she ducked into the restaurant lobby and watched as the waitress set two fresh martinis in front of Phil. Within moments, the waitress had taken Sarah's vacated seat and was sipping her drink. Rolling her eyes, Sarah wished the young woman luck and hoped that she wouldn't have to learn about the unfairness of life the hard way.

* * *

A/N: This fic is a gift for my sister – Merry Christmas, sister dear! Hope you like it!

Many thanks to my beta Leanansidhe1228, not only for the corrections and suggestions, but for the title of the fic, as well.

Cookies for the reader who can spot the Zoolander reference. :)

And remember: feed a writer – leave a review!


	2. Running Her Labyrinth

Disclaimer: I do not own Laybrinth and don't make money off it.

* * *

Chapter 2 – Solving Her Labyrinth

"'No magic in front of the humans,' indeed," Jareth growled under his breath, then immediately wished he hadn't. His usually grand entrance had been stymied by one of Draconus' final clauses, undoubtedly woven into the spells that saturated the gems around his neck. The transportation spell that was to bring him to the mortal realm as close to Sarah as possible had deposited him in a disgusting little corner of Aboveground completely devoid of human life – and he understood why the instant he had opened his mouth.

Pinching his nose shut with two fingers, Jareth eyed the enormous rubbish bins with supreme distaste. They were metal monstrosities overflowing with brightly colored waste of all shapes and sizes. Soggy stinking things were piled in drifts around the bins, and his sharp, slightly pointed ears picked up the sounds of tiny clawed feet scurrying through the debris. The pungent mess was trapped between two tall stone walls that cast the narrow alley into a humid gloom. Though heavily shaded, the air was almost stiflingly hot and prickled at his skin like tiny needles. A fence of metal mesh blocked the alley at one end, but visible just beyond the giant bins was a patch of bright daylight that illumined flashes of metal and gray concrete. A rhythmic thumping bass shuddered through his chest through the dull roar of fuel-propelled engines and the brush of rubber across pavement.

'Ugh, a _city_,' Jareth grumbled, silently this time. It didn't seem like the place that a girl who had recited lines in a park would end up, but it had been… how many years? Jareth couldn't say – he'd never been very good about tracking long periods of time Aboveground. Not enough hours in a day, for one thing, and it only had four seasons!

Shifting his weight and cringing when something squelched under his heeled boots, Jareth picked his way carefully around the bins toward the light and noise. Emerging from the alley, the heat of the day struck him hard in the face, and the fierce sunlight immediately began to soak into his black Goblin armor. He had chosen the outfit for the intimidation factor (and he really liked its swishy cloak), but he hadn't counted on hundred-degree weather. In fact, he had assumed that he would have been transported to the interior of the sound stage in which Sarah was located, or at least relatively close to it, instead of a garbage-strewn alley off a busy boulevard.

A cherry-red vehicle with no top hurtled past him, its strident horn blaring as three voluptuous women leaned out of the windows waving their hands and screaming over the deafening volume of their music. Propping his hands on his hips and striking a dashing pose, Jareth sent them his most dangerous smirk. The vehicle behind, sleekly silver with dark windows, was forced to slam on its breaks as the women slowed to blow him kisses and one pointed a small black device at him. If flashed, the women screamed, and the vehicle behind sounded its horn in one long barbarian cry. As the women drove away, closely followed by the silver machine, Jareth shook his head long-sufferingly and fluffed his wild blond hair. The black armor always _did_ make a good impression. And he was such a handsome beast.

Unfortunately, it did not put him any closer to Sarah's sound stage. It had seemed so simple when he had hatched the plan: remove the man playing opposite Sarah in the film she was shooting and take his place. His exposure to films consisted of glimpses on the televisions of wishers, articles in magazines that had somehow found their way Underground (often lightly chewed), and a set of youngsters collected from a location shoot of a film titled _Children of the Corn_. Apparently, their caretaker had gotten jumpy. Now, he regretted not allowing the focus of his scrying crystal to move beyond Sarah's general vicinity to reveal, say, what the sound stage looked like from the _out_side. Not that he was worried in the slightest.

He would make a dramatic entrance onto the stage, and she would be so surprised and impressed that she would literally swoon at his feet. There was also sure to be kissing involved during the production; that's how theater worked. He would be in close, personal contact with her for many hours of the day. Even if the sheer sexuality and magnetism of his persona didn't make her fall head over heels (it would), then if she were an actress worth her salt (she would be), she would put all of her heart into her role, and thus, kisses. He didn't see how he could lose. There was just the business of _finding_ the sound stage.

Glancing up and down the street, he eyed the tall cement-and-glass buildings that lined the street with a wary eye. Several hundred feet down the street was a tall wall and a giant iron gate. A man in a tiny kiosk staffed it, periodically allowing a vehicle entrance.

'Run her labyrinth,' Jareth mused to himself. If that wasn't a gate to a labyrinth, then he wasn't the Goblin King. With a superior smile, he stalked toward the gate, his cloak fluttering satisfyingly behind him. She had made it so _easy_ for him! The gate wasn't even properly disguised! He doubted he would even need the thirteen days.

Sauntering past the line of vehicles at the gate, he stepped up to the man in the kiosk as the gate was closing behind one of the vehicles. If he had made a run for it, then he probably could have slipped through, but Goblin Kings did not run to catch gates.

"Sir," Jareth said as politely as he was inclined, which wasn't very. "I'll pass now."

The man eyed him narrowly beneath a fringe of greasy black hair. His thick mustache bristled as he grunted, "Let's see some ID."

Jareth blinked and then frowned. He did not like this man's tone. Not to mention he hadn't a clue what "ID" could be. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, his tone clearly indicating the offense he had taken.

The man leaned out of the window and enunciated very slowly, as if Jareth were either stupid or hard of hearing, or both, "Eye. Dee."

Annoyed and sweating underneath his black Goblin armor, Jareth itched to summon a crystal and send this man straight to the Bog of Eternal Stench. Draconus' infuriating little rule regarding magic in front of humans was the only thing stopping him. Lifting his arm, he fully intended to drag the man from his kiosk when a sweetly concerned voice spoke over his shoulder.

"There you are, honey! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Jareth turned his head and met a pair of pale blue eyes set in a softly masculine face that was just visible over the top of a heavily tinted window. With a soft hiss, the window disappeared into the car door and the man extended his hand, a small plastic card tucked between two tidy fingers. The man smiled encouragingly at Jareth, then said to the oaf in the kiosk, "Sorry for your trouble, Fred. He's with me."

Fred frowned, but inclined his head respectfully to the new man. "Hey, Paul, how're you doing? He hasn't shown me any ID," Fred groused as he took the card and retreated into the kiosk.

Laughing, Paul gave Jareth a thorough eyeing. "Do you see any pockets in that getup? Though why he wore it out of the lot, I'll never know." He winked at Jareth, who stomached it all in seething silence. He didn't mind Paul's roaming gaze near as much as Fred's disrespect. He _should_ be admired, loved and obeyed! Had he been able to use his powers, he would have put that insolent human in his place. Namely, the Bog. He wasn't, however, and Paul seemed to have a certain amount of clout with Fred, future Prince of the Land of Stench.

"Alright, Paul, you're good to go," Fred said a moment later and handed back the plastic card, along with several colored pieces of stiff paper. ID, Jareth figured. He should see about getting some. "You, too," Fred continued tetchily, "but this is just between us. You had better put your ID in your codpiece next time." With that final warning, Fred pressed a large black button and the gate trundled open.

"No room for it!" Paul giggled, then said, "Well, get in the car, pretty boy."

"I'll walk, thank you," Jareth ground out between clenched teeth and stalked toward the open gate with as much dignity as he could muster.

Paul sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Well, call me tonight!" he called at Jareth's retreating back. "Actors these days, so temperamental." He shared a look with Fred and drove through the gate, passing Jareth with a little wave of his fingers. "I'll be at sound stage twelve, honey!" The canary yellow car accelerated with a coughing roar and disappeared into a tall cavernous building that was already full to brimming with other vehicles.

Freezing in his tracks, Jareth stared after the car and silently cursed. Paul knew where the sound stages were. He could have been Jareth's ticket to finding Sarah quickly! 'No matter,' Jareth thought quickly, dismissing Paul's usefulness with a sniff. How difficult could it be, really?

* * *

Sarah stood by the crew's snack table and munched on her umpteenth carrot stick with tiny crunching bites. Staring blankly into space, she hardly noticed the hustle and bustle surrounding her: the cinematographer brusquely snapping directions or the grips positioning flags for the scene they were to start filming; the puppeteers testing the action of their puppets or the small gaggle of extras that stared at her with starry eyes and whispered behind their hands. Her thoughts revolved around a particular piece of furniture in her apartment and the odd item it had coughed up that morning.

Said piece of furniture was an old vanity that she had found in a thrift store when she had first moved to California and had to furnish her apartment on a limited budget. It had been priced so low that she would have sworn it was a mistake, and yet she had almost not bought it for it had seemed an extravagance that she couldn't afford. Nevertheless, it had called to her, whispering at the back of her mind as she wended her way through the dusty aisles of the store until she had found herself, once again, running her fingers over its rich varnished top. It was a beautiful piece in ornately carved mahogany with a tall arched mirror set with silvered glass. Somehow, it had miraculously fit in the trunk of her compact car even though the measurements she had taken later put it at several inches too wide to fit.

For over a year, she had completely missed the hidden compartment at the back of one drawer. It was in this secret place that she occasionally found an antique brooch, a set of floppy disks rubber-banded together, a yellowing tooth with a gold crown, a scattering of mouse droppings or nothing at all. On the days that something appeared, she would pluck it from the compartment to inspect it (except for stuff like the tooth or fecal matter); the items that passed muster would be placed somewhere else for safekeeping and replaced with something she wanted to unload. The items she didn't like were left in the compartment and would disappear on the vanity's whim. This morning, a small red book with gold lettering had lain at the bottom of the compartment. Sarah had stared at it – _hard_. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about it appearing in her vanity. That book had given her both the time – and the scare – of her life. Its villain still starred in some of her steamier dreams, and on one mortifying occasion, she had accidentally cried his name during a rendezvous with an ex-boyfriend. That relationship had been particularly short-lived, and she'd sworn never to date Fae again; at least not ones who knew the Goblin King. Though she still referred to him as a villain, she hardly thought of him like that anymore. The adventure he had provided her had taught her several important life lessons, and he had only ever done what she had asked. Quite generous of him, really, considering how much damage she had done to his kingdom. Still, the thought of him made her nervous (when it wasn't making her horny), and she was very careful about how she phrased her wishes just in case he was still listening.

After she had checked her closet and under the bed for Goblins and stray crystal balls (there weren't any), she had gingerly removed the book and set it on the surface of the vanity. When it had remained an innocuous little book, she had shrugged and closed the drawer, wishing that she had the time to call on Hoggle before heading to the studio. Then again, stranger things had come out of the vanity – who was she to jump at shadows? Or books, for that matter.

"Nibble, nibble like … well, I wouldn't say a _mouse_," a deep masculine voice rumbled by her ear. Sarah jerked out of her reverie and sucked a bit of carrot into the wrong tube, sending her into a coughing fit.

"Oh, I _beg_ your pardon; that was not my intention," the man exclaimed in a slight brogue and began to pat her back. Through watering eyes, she could see his embarrassed, contrite expression. What caught her attention, however, were his gloriously long black hair, golden eyes and sharp aristocratic features. He was tall and lean, his fitted button-down shirt and dark denim jeans hinting at a toned physique. The presence of such hotness was enough to settle the tickle in her throat. Dabbing at her streaming eyes, careful not to disturb the make-up that Kathy had so meticulously applied earlier, she smiled at the man and waved an airy hand.

"Not your fault! I must have spaced out." She gave him her most winning smile. 'Please don't be gay, please don't be gay,' she whispered in the corner of her mind that hadn't had a decent bedmate for far too long. Offering the hand she hadn't coughed all over, she said, "I'm Sarah."

"Of course you are! Who else would you be?" His smile was sharp-toothed and predatory, almost wicked, and Sarah's stomach did a wriggling little dance. "Draco, at your service. I'm the new PA."

'So _not_ my co-star, what a bummer,' she thought, followed by, 'Yummy.' Her pledge to lay off Fae (for she knew that's what he was with the same innate certainty that she knew a ball would roll downhill) was tossed out the proverbial window.

"What happened to Dana?" she asked as she straightened her posture and tugged self-consciously at her pseudo-medieval dress. She was now quite pleased with its daring neckline. When he shrugged, she felt silly for asking; of course he wouldn't know. She did wonder what a Fae was doing on the set of _Journey to the Center of the Maze_, but decided against asking. He wouldn't expect her to realize that he wasn't human, and she didn't want to give him any reason to brush her off – or worse. Fae could be temperamental.

"I must admit," he said as he leaned against the wall and eyed her with inhuman intensity. Sarah felt deliciously unclothed, but raised a forbidding eyebrow. It wouldn't do to appear too accommodating. Fae liked games; the more challenging the better. She had to play hard to get to keep his interest. "There is something about you… Film simply cannot capture it."

"Um, thanks," Sarah replied, not sure what to make of that comment coming from such a being. Either it was a mediocre pick-up line or he was sensing her magic. Most of the non-humans that she encountered found her irresistible, but rarely understood why until she actually told them. If Draco felt her power, then he was powerful in his own right. She would have to be careful.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Draco, but we're scheduled to shoot the next scene any minute now…" She trailed off as she glanced around the stage, not seeing her new co-star anywhere. "But it appears that my co-star is late."

"Perhaps he was detained," Draco purred and shot her a wicked grin.

'I'm in so much trouble,' Sarah thought as her lips pulled upward in an answering grin.

* * *

"She is in so much trouble," Jareth muttered to himself as he wandered past yet another huge building that looked exactly like most of the others in this infernal place. He refused to remember that it was his decision to play Draconus' game and that Sarah, not knowing his plans for her, had not hidden herself in the impossible-to-find sound stage just to be defiant.

If only he had use of his magic! Humans scurried everywhere like busy little brownies, and almost as soon as he had found a secluded corner in which he could perform another transportation spell, another human would pop up. Once, he had managed it, but the constraints under which the use of his magic was placed only resulted in him transporting himself across the campus. He was reluctant to admit it, but he, Jareth the Goblin King, was… not lost, but a bit turned around.

"It's not f—" Jareth stopped himself before the phrase completely left his mouth, but it still reverberated through his mind. If he weren't quite so fond of the girl, he would never have participated in the blasted game in the first place. Well, "fond" might not have been the best word… If he were honest with himself, he would say "smitten" and perhaps "obsessed," but he didn't really want to think about that at the moment.

"What's not fair?" a voice asked behind him. Whirling, Jareth came face-to-face with a short stocky man who had his nose buried in a thick sheaf of papers.

"Pardon me?" Jareth asked as if that was _not_ what he had been about to say, nor would it _ever_.

"I _asked_," the man emphasized the word impatiently, "what's not fair? You actors, always complaining about the fairness of things. Just be happy you're here and obviously employed, whereas so many out there are waiting tables. Try being forced to go on strike – then you'll _really_ see not fair."

"You dare to lecture me, Jareth the Goblin King?" Jareth asked haughtily, completely forgetting in his frustration and offended sensibilities the fact that he was traveling incognito as an actor. "I should throw you headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench!" Twisting his wrist to conjure a crystal, Jareth swore in Gobbledygook when his palm remained empty.

"Method actors," the squat little man sighed to himself, but Jareth's sharp ears picked it up nonetheless. Louder, he said, "Forgot your prop, Majesty? You must be from 'Maze,' but you're a bit far from sound stage thirteen. Late too, I bet. Phil is going to have your balls in his soup. Speaking of which, you might want to brush off your, uh… _tights_, by the way."

'My tights?' Glancing down, Jareth realized that he had somehow acquired a strategically placed smear of dust on his black breeches. He hadn't a clue how it got there without his noticing, as that was a very sensitive area, but there was no way he was going to wipe at it in front of this man.

"How da—" Jareth bit the word off with a click of his sharp teeth. He _had_ to remember that he was pretending to be a mortal or he could quite possibly lose to Draconus. Even stupid, unimaginative creatures could cause him problems, stripped of his magic in their presence as he was, and he could tell that this man was neither. Since thoroughly bogging him was out of the question and a tongue-lashing would not necessarily further his goal (this was not Hoggle, more's the pity), Jareth gathered up the tattered remains of his pride and lifted his chin. 'Oh, the things I do for dear Sarah,' he thought ungraciously. "How do you suggest I find sound stage thirteen?" he asked as amiably as the clenching of his jaw would allow.

The man's raised eyebrows were an indication that he hadn't entirely succeeded, but he answered anyway. "Walk past twenty-seven, past the cafeteria – you'll see the patio – pass auxiliary parking garage B, and then look to your right. You can't miss it. It's the size of an airplane hanger."

Following the man's pointed finger, he finally saw the "STAGE 27" sign in large block letters posted on the building in whose shadow he was currently standing. He wasn't sure how big an airplane hanger actually was, but everything in this confounded place was huge, so he decided to look for a similar building. Thanking the man with reluctant politesse, he stalked in the direction that he had indicated, trying to ignore the blisters that were forming on the sides of his pinky-toes. His boots were beautiful, true, but he had never had the occasion to do much walking in them. Nor would he find another; they were _not_ walking boots. The combination of hot sun and black leather was slowly roasting his feet, not to mention the sweat slicking the insides of his armor and running down the backs of his legs. He was positive that his lovely hair was now a bedraggled, limp mess. It just wasn't—

It just wasn't.

* * *

Sighing heavily for the umpteenth time that day, Sarah once again checked the clock that had been hung behind the film crew. It was almost one o'clock, and her co-star had still failed to make an appearance. "Phil!" she called out impatiently. "Are you sure you gave this guy – what was his name? – the right instructions?"

Glancing up from a rather intimate conversation that he had been having with her make-up lady, Phil scowled at her. "Yes, I sent Gladys to meet him at Gate 3. She's still waiting for him. And his name is…"

"Yes?" Sarah prompted him, secretly thinking that Gladys probably went down the street to Starbucks to wait. Phil stood with his mouth slightly agape as his eyes squinted with effort, but it was a camerawoman who spoke up.

"Wasn't it Gerry?"

"No, that's not right," Phil snapped. "It's—"

"Jeremiah," said Kathy, the make-up artist who now had her hand on Phil's hip.

"Garrett!" one of the puppeteers piped up from the depths of a foam-and-latex monstrosity.

Draco chuckled darkly across the room, and Sarah felt the vibrations in the marrow of her bones. "Janet," he volunteered. For a reason unbeknownst to her, Sarah giggled.

"No, no! His name will be Fired if he doesn't show up soon." With a wave of his hand, Phil dismissed them, returning his attention to Kathy.

Sarah rolled her eyes and took a deep swig of her soda, relishing the burning pleasure of cold carbonation rushing down her throat. Co-star or no co-star, she was being paid for her time, and if he was any later, there wasn't a doubt that they'd be shooting heavily into overtime. She did hope he'd show up eventually; the budget might not allow for another change in male lead. As ambivalent about the film as she was, she didn't want to see it fail before it was even done shooting.

As that thought rolled through her mind, a sudden pang of foreboding struck Sarah so hard that she dropped the can of diet cola that she holding and swayed slightly on her feet. Almost too fast to see, Draco appeared by her side, snatching it out of the air and setting it on the table.

Laying a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Sarah? Sarah, are you alright?" His golden eyes peered down at her with concern, searching her face. "You're looking a little peaked."

Gripping the edge of the snack table, Sarah blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it of the lingering dizziness. "Yes, fine… I must have been on my feet too long," she lied. It had been a long time since she had had such a strong premonition, and that had occurred right before her big break into semi-stardom. Did this mean that something very good was coming her way, or something very bad? Regardless, it felt life altering.

"And had too much caffeine," Draco added as he picked up the can and tossed it into the garbage.

Glancing up at him and then following the path of the can as it flew through the air, Sarah frowned. She had been drinking that. "That was my soda," she protested, though she hardly had the energy to put much displeasure into it.

Snapping a bottle of water out of the plastic rings containing several other bottles, Draco handed it to her, neatly twisting off the top. "Drink this instead, it's much better for your body." Placing his hand back on her shoulder, he steered her toward one of the folding chairs that had been set up around the sound stage. "Now, have a seat."

Sinking into the chair, Sarah wondered if pushiness were an integral flaw in Fae character. All the Fae _she_ had met were used to getting their way and didn't like to take no for an answer. She had better put Draco in his place quickly, just as soon as she was confident that she could stand without falling over. In the meantime, she took a healthy swig from the bottle. The water was room temperature and less than refreshing, but it did help to clear some of the cobwebs from her head. "Thanks, Draco. But really, I'm fine," she said firmly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I don't doubt it," he said with a knowing smile. With a slight tremor of foreboding aftershock, Sarah wondered just what it was he thought he knew.

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year, sister dear! Your second chapter is up. The vanity in this chapter is _your_ vanity from _Homecoming_. Thanks for it's use!

I forgot to mention – the title of this fic is from the Queen song of the same name. Thanks again, leannsidhe1228, beta extraordinaire!

The Zoolander reference in the previous chapter was the bit about falling off the horse. Can't believe no one got that. *shakes head*

Oh, and one other thing – this fic is slightly AU in the fact that though this is set fifteen years after Sarah's adventure in Labyrinth, it is actually present-day. A kind reviewer asked about it, so I thought I had better make that clear.

And remember: feed a writer – leave a review!


	3. Golf Cart of Doom

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I don't make money off it.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Golf Cart of Doom

Striding along purposefully, his tattered cape fluttering in the hot afternoon sun, Jareth ignored the plaintive bleating behind him. He was so close to sound stage thirteen that he could taste Sarah's surprise. The directions the man had given him had been as accurate as he could wish, and he was now passing auxiliary parking garage B. He had no time for whatever it was that was trying to get his attention. It could wait. He had kissing to—

_Beep-BEEP!_

The honking sounded loudly in his sensitive ears and seemingly almost on top of him. Turning reflexively toward the horrible noise, he realized that it _was_ almost on top of him. There was just enough space between the parking garage and the building on the other side of the alley for two adult humans to walk abreast and for the narrow little vehicle honking at him to pass. A slow, but steady stream of people was walking to his right, so he had claimed the left side of the alley for his own quick gait, and Jareth was not inclined to step out of the way. He had been ogled and insulted enough for one day; this vehicle could move aside for _him_.

With another furious series of beeps, the strange vehicle bore down on him with no intention of stopping. Turning to face the vehicle, he planted his feet shoulder-width apart and propped his fists on his hips, staring it down with a flinty expression. The man behind the wheel furrowed his brow and sounded his horn, but kept to his path. Jareth glared, and if his magic hadn't been blocked, then the vehicle would surely have burst into flames. As it was, it simply got noisier and closer. His heart thundering in his ears, Jareth rode the waves of adrenaline that accompanied facing down raging beasts and regretted only the fact that he didn't have a sword with which to smite it when it came within range… which would be in five… four…

Something latched onto his arm and jerked him out of way, and Jareth stumbled to the side. Startled and off balance, he clutched at what had grabbed him, but it was just as unsteady. With a disgusted thought of, 'Not _again_,' Jareth hit the cement with his hip and elbow, his legs entwined with those of another man. "Your mother was an aardvark!" he shouted after the retreating vehicle before he could stop himself.

"Jesus, man! Were you gonna let that thing run you down? Are you crazy?!" the man shouted in his face, his breath redolent with the scent of spicy peppers and coffee.

Regaining his natural agility, Jareth rolled to his feet in a smooth movement and glared down at him. "It was no match for me," he sneered.

As graceful as a cat, he began to brush the dirt from his Goblin armor. It had seen better days. When he got home, he'd have Hoggle clean it for him. Surely the little scab had done something irritating enough to warrant it. Even if he hadn't, it would be good for him.

"It was a freakin' _golf cart_, dude! It woulda taken out your skinny ass any day!" With much less finesse, the man climbed to his feet and began to dust himself off with frustrated little swats. Mumbling to himself, he collected the scattering of papers that he'd dropped and stuffed them unceremoniously into a black shoulder bag.

Jareth raised a disbelieving eyebrow. It really hadn't been an impressive vehicle; spindly and narrow, it looked as if it would have crumpled in a stiff breeze. "I very much doubt that."

"Whatever, man. Whatever." Shaking his head, the man lumbered away.

Jareth watched him go with a frown and decided that he needed to acquire a notebook so that he could write down the names of the all mortals that annoyed him. Once he had full use of his powers (surely humans couldn't populate every stinking corner of this city), he could sic the Goblins on them.

Cheated of his rightful victory, Jareth continued on his way, wondering how he might acquire a "golf cart" of his own. As frail they might be, they were just the right size to traverse Labyrinth, and they could be reinforced. Wouldn't he look splendid as he chased Goblins through the its passages? He could swap out the tiny wheels for larger ones with spikes on the rims, paint the thing a lovely shade of eggplant, maybe attach a shark fin to the top…

Thoughts of tricked-out golf carts were interrupted as he passed the furthest edge of the parking garage and saw "STAGE 13" in white block letters on the side of an enormous building. It wasn't nearly as impressive as his castle, but the sun glinted off the corrugated tin roof, lighting it up like a gold-plated onion dome. A smirk of triumph twisted his lips as his legs instinctively began a long, easy strut to the large double doors at the front of the building.

Glancing over his shoulder, he checked for stray humans. Naturally, several were wandering about, and Jareth sighed heavily. Wrapping his hands around both handles, he tugged, intending to send both flying open so that he would appear framed in sunlight and immortal splendor.

The doors didn't budge.

"Damn," he muttered, giving them another firm tug. Stepping back, he glared at them. Insolent doors. A high-pitched _beep_ caught his attention, and he glanced to his right where another sound stage loomed. A man had his hips held closely to a small panel set in the wall next to the doors. After a mechanical _clunk_, the man grasped one of the door handles and swung it open. Taken aback, Jareth shook his head at the insanity of mortals, but walked to a similar panel next to the doors of sound stage thirteen. In imitation of the man, Jareth pushed his hips toward the panel and listened for the sound of the door unlocking. Both the panel and the door remained silent. Vexed and confused, Jareth tried the doors regardless. They were still locked.

"It must have been intimidated," he grumbled as he positioned himself in front of the panel. Just for good measure, he gave his crotch a surreptitious dusting; it needed it anyway. Slightly more tidy, he once again thrust his hips at the panel.

Silence.

At a complete loss, Jareth thrust his hips repeatedly at the panel, muttering under his breath. "Come on, you little scab. What do you expect, foreplay? Open, damn you…"

At the apex of one particularly exuberant thrust, his elbows drawn back, his back bowed to extend his groin and his mouth pursed in concentration, the doors swung open and two young men walked out carrying floppy rectangular bags. Jareth froze in surprise, and one of the men met his mismatched stare.

"Dude! What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Straightening his posture with an air of nonchalance that he was not feeling, Jareth eyed them with disdain, but did not deign to respond. Before the door could close behind them, Jareth pushed between them and entered sound stage thirteen.

* * *

The pizzas had arrived, and not a moment too soon, in Sarah's opinion. Though several slices of hot cheese pizza liberally dressed with marinated jalapenos would cost her several hours at the gym, they would taste so good going down! Several furry puppet faces watched her despondently from the set where they were being coordinated for the next scene. Because her co-star _still_ hadn't appeared, Phil had rescheduled a puppet dance number. Unfortunately for the puppeteers, the pizzas had arrived between takes and before the wrap.

Before she could leave her seat, Draco was at her elbow with a plate laden with pizza and salad. His attentiveness was almost unsettling, but it was very Fae. "Here you are, Sarah," he said with a sultry smile that revealed sharply pointed teeth. She couldn't help but shiver as she took the plate with quietly murmured thanks. "Would you—" he stopped mid-word and glanced toward the doors, frowning slightly.

"Would I…" she prompted.

"I'm sorry, but I've just remembered something that requires my attention. However, I would like to ask if you'd allow me to take you out tonight. Drinks and dessert, as no doubt we will have both eaten dinner by then."

"Well, I suppose—"

"Excellent. I'll be at your apartment at eight-thirty. Text me the address." He handed her a small slip of paper with his digits scrawled in spidery handwriting. Picking up her free hand, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles in an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. Gwydion, her Fae ex-boyfriend, hadn't done anything like that. He'd placed quick kisses on her cheeks and then tweaked her nose. It had been cute the first few times. Perhaps they came from separate parts of the Underground where traditions differed? Depending on how this dessert date went, she might get the opportunity to ask.

Draco flashed her another sharp smile and walked brusquely off the set. Watching him go, Sarah wondered a bit wistfully if Jareth would have been the nose-tweaking type or the hand-kissing type. She had a feeling that no matter how charming and gallant Draco could be, Jareth would out-match him in style. Sighing softly as she chalked it up to Things She Would Probably Never Know, she took a large bite off the end of one slice of pizza.

Boiling hot sauce burst through holes in the cheese and basted the roof of her mouth, instantly causing painful blisters. Her eyes widening and watering, she squeaked and fanned her now open mouth. So distracted by the damage to her mouth, she missed seeing the set doors swing open with a flourish and a reed-thin figure dressed in outlandish black armor stalk in, his glittering midnight blue cape billowing behind him.

"Wa! Wa! Wa!" Sarah gasped, still frantically waving at her mouth as she searched the surrounding area for something cold and liquid to douse the burn. For once that day, Draco was not on hand, and neither was a beverage. Since everyone else was staring at the interloper, she was left to dash over to the ice chest and pull a can of soda from its frigid depths. Never had an Orange Crush felt so good going down. She heaved a heavy sigh in blessed relief.

"Sarah…" a voice purred right behind her ear; a throaty baritone that she hadn't heard in the waking world for fifteen years, but had starred prominently in several x-rated dreams. It had an effect similar to that in her dreams, igniting a rush of hormones that left prickling goose bumps in its wake. Flustered and startled, Sarah whirled in place and lost her grip on the can of soda. Almost in slow motion, she watched the can bounce off an intricately tooled leather breastplate and orange liquid splatter down close-fitting black pants that displayed a well-toned male physique.

"Shit!" she exclaimed by reflex, then, "Sorry!" It wasn't until her apologetic gaze skittered up to his face that her higher thought processes caught up to what her body already knew. For a long moment, she couldn't say anything at all.

Staring down at her with his mouth open in what could only be stunned disbelief, his blond hair slightly limp, but characteristically disheveled, was the Goblin King.

"Jareth!" Phil shouted, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the two. Rushing over to the pair, he sized him up with a flick of his eyes. "Finally! Where the _hell_ have you been? And I see you have already become a victim of Sarah's clumsiness."

"I'm not that bad," she said faintly, backing up a step and running into the snack table, her eyes still fixed on the Goblin King's face. Already he was regaining his composure, his face settling into a cocky, if somewhat strained, smirk. 'Really,' she thought in a fit of mental babbling, 'it was only one rack of puppets that one time, and now I'm the production's klutz.' Clearing her throat, she shook the shock out of her brain with a toss of her hair and snatched up a wad of napkins from the table, offering them to him. "Here, and I _am_ sorry, um… what did you say your name was?"

"Jareth," he said smoothly, darkly, making dangerous eyes at her from underneath his wing-tipped eyebrows. The napkins were ignored. Sarah wondered at the state of his pants after their dousing and had to fight a mental battle to keep from looking. "But you already knew that."

"Did I?" she asked innocently and hoped that he couldn't hear the frantic beating of her heart. 'That'll teach him to sneak up on me in the middle of a pizza emergency… But what is he _doing_ here? Unless…'

"Sarah, I'd like you to meet Jareth, your new co-star of 'Journey to the Center of the Maze'!" Phil said grandly and clapped Jareth on the back, his eyes wandering down the neckline of Sarah's gown. The Fae blinked, giving the director a hard look. "Good grief, you're a mess, Jareth. I want you in wardrobe immediately. We still have time to shoot the first scene. Why on _earth_ did you come in that costume? I'm Phil, by the way, your director."

"Jareth." Sarah rolled his name across her tongue much like he had done hers and was gratified by an answering flicker in the depths of his strange eyes. So _this_ was what all the foreboding feelings had been about: a figure from the past coming to meddle in the present. She hadn't a clue what he was playing at, but movie making was probably not it. Could it be coincidence that two Fae were on the same production staff? 'Probably about as much coincidence as finding uLabyrinth/u in my vanity the same day that the Goblin King appears on set,' she mused. 'In other words, none at all.' Nevertheless, she had to play it cool now and wring the answers out of him later. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Sarah Williams, your leading lady."

"Mine, yes," he drawled slowly, his normally clipped accent smooth and melodic.

Sarah suppressed a shudder, shooting Phil a perturbed glance. He shrugged and mouthed, "British."

"Right, so into make-up and wardrobe you go." This time, Phil's hand stayed on Jareth's back, attempting to guide him toward Kathy, who had just acquired several slices of pizza and looked none too happy at the interruption. Neatly stepping away from Phil, the Goblin King-turned-actor held up a quelling hand.

"I'd like a private word with my… co-star," he said in a tone that brooked no denial. To Sarah's surprise (though not really), Phil subsided with a short nod. With a small bow and an extended arm, he bade Sarah precede him. 'I bet he kisses hands,' Sarah thought with a small thrill before she could properly squelch it. Despite misgivings and traitorous tingles, she led him to a relatively secluded area of the stage where several extra lighting umbrellas and an enormous foam boulder had been stashed.

"Well?" she snapped when they were properly ensconced behind the umbrellas and out of view of the crew. Not that anything on the set was truly private, but she did give it a good try. Now that the shock of his arrival had begun to wear off, she found herself quite put out and even more so when he leaned his shoulder casually against the wall and raised a slanted eyebrow, giving her a rakish grin.

"Miss me?" he asked. She wasn't going to answer that; lying to the Goblin King was dangerous and probably futile, and telling the truth would swell his fluffy head.

"You just magicked your way into this production, didn't you?" Sarah hissed instead. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Need you ask?" Sighing, she rubbed her face with her hands, uncaring of the hours-old make-up. "Messed with a few minds, removed a key player and _poof_," she said, twisting her wrist in a fair imitation of him conjuring a crystal, "part of the show! Well, nobody wished you here, so you might as well go back Underground." He cocked his head, tendrils of pale hair brushing against his black breastplate. Sarah forced her eyes back up to his face. It really wasn't fair that a dusty, sweaty, orange soda-soaked Goblin King could still pull off sexy.

"Perhaps I wished _myself_ here," he said, unfazed by her quiet tirade. She hadn't expected him to be, but it had felt good to get it out of her system. "Wanted to see how the other side lived. Hm?"

"Right," she said slowly, meeting his gaze. One eye was blue and the other light brown with an enlarged pupil. The effect was striking and a little distracting. She suspected that he knew it and dropped her eyes to his lips, which were well formed and sensual. That didn't help at all. When she met his eyes again, there was amusement dancing behind them. "What do you really want?"

"How about a kiss for old time's sake?" he asked, leaning toward her.

Affecting his indolent pose, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and raised her eyebrow, trying to pretend that the thought of kissing the Goblin King wasn't the least bit interesting. "Which time, the one when you sent the Cleaners after me or when you tried to dump me in the Bog?"

"I was thinking the very last time, right after you destroyed a very unique room in my castle, and despite it, I offered you... Well." He made a sarcastic self-deprecating hand gesture.

"That room wasn't very practical."

"I assure you, that it had its uses. It was the only place I could get any peace and quiet, for one thing."

Sarah sighed and forced the conversation back on track. "That still doesn't explain what you are doing here or when you plan to leave."

He watched her intensely for several long unblinking moments, his very stillness inhuman. Just as her eyes had begun to water from the effort of meeting his stare, he pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them. He was only a few inches taller than her (not including his hair), yet still managed to loom. "I'm on holiday," he said finally. "For a couple of weeks. You, precious thing, will entertain me, just as I entertained you." When she opened her mouth to protest, he placed a gloved finger across her lips. "Ah, ah, I don't expect you to _starve_ or _exhaust_ yourself on my account. Simply… entertain me."

Something didn't sit right; she had a suspicion that there was more to his visit than that. Unfortunately for Sarah, she could feel the warmth of his finger through the leather, and it distracted her long enough to let other pressing worries gather. Swatting his hand away, she fixed him with her best no nonsense stare. "You're staying here for two weeks? What happens to this production when it loses another co-star? Are you going to bring Erik back from Tibet… or wherever you sent him?"

"I did not send him anywhere. I simply gave him a… nudge to leave," Jareth said, impassive and unimpressed.

"And now Phil believes that you're some British rock star. What about your supposed past works? Your agent? PR? Don't you think someone will notice that _no one_ has heard of you? That's not to mention such details as your accommodations… I bet you didn't plan for that, did you? What, are you going to sleep on the set?" A slow smile began to stretch his lips, and though it undeniably made her stomach tighten, it nudged the suspicious part of her brain until it was awake and kicking. "What? Oh, no. No. Absolutely not."

"Come, Sarah. Surely you wouldn't deny an old friend?"

"Friends, is that what we are? Go talk to Phil and pull some hotel reservations out of his ass," she snapped. Jareth looked at her askance, slightly disturbed, and she sighed. "I didn't mean _literally_."

"You owe me, precious thing. You did spill that nasty orange concoction on me."

She winced. He was _still wearing_ her soda. Perhaps she did owe him some laundry, but that was a far cry from bunking down on her couch. "No, Jareth. You can't stay with me."

* * *

"…Damn it," she swore as she flicked on the entry lights in her tiny apartment and dumped her keys and purse on the telephone table placed by the door. Sidling around her, Jareth stalked through the entry and into the living room, looking about him with thinly veiled curiosity.

"Sorry, but I just had all the chickens removed. Didn't know I was going to have a houseguest."

"What a pity. It will do, I suppose," he said, swiping a gloved finger across the screen of her television and eying the dust that had collected there. Nodding in approval, he sauntered into her kitchen and began to open cabinets.

Squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose, Sarah mentally cast Phil into the Bog of Eternal Stench. It was _his_ fault that Jareth was now opening her jar of peanut butter and giving it a good sniff. The director had sought them out behind the umbrellas and whisked Jareth off to wardrobe before the Fae King could properly take "no" for an answer. Later, she had saved Phil from a stint in an oubliette by agreeing to help Jareth practice his lines. The lecher _owed_ her.

The sight of the time flashing on her microwave clock struck a chord in her memory, and she suddenly grinned. "Make yourself at home," she called gaily over her shoulder as she headed to her bedroom. "I'm going out for a while; I've got a date." From the kitchen emanated a sound that could only be a peanut butter jar hitting her ancient porcelain sink. Grinning wickedly, she added, "With a man."

She closed the bedroom door behind her, snickering to herself. Before she could properly congratulate herself, a wind swept through her bedroom, bringing with it a thick cloud of glitter that coalesced into the form of a startled Goblin King. She didn't have time to ponder his surprise before his face settled into a petulant scowl and his fists planted themselves on his hips. "What do you mean, a date?"

"I mean," she said slowly and smugly, though taking several small unobtrusive steps backward, "I'm going out for drinks and dessert with a man who is romantically interested in me."

"I know what a date is, little girl." He began to close the gap between with peacock-like strutting steps. "What I want to know is why you think you're going on one with someone else."

"You think I'd go by myself?" She raised incredulous eyebrows, purposefully misunderstanding him. Really, he had enough gall to digest a cow whole, alive and kicking. "Now, I've got to get ready, and you are in the way." Poking him in the chest, she reached within herself for that unnamable spot and _tweaked_…

Her bedroom became free of Goblin Kings, and Sarah smiled with satisfaction. The smile only grew when she heard an outraged squawk from the vicinity of her living room. Sashaying to her closet, she chose a flattering dress in midnight blue and ignored the pounding on her door and the increasingly colorful cursing.

"If you make too much noise, my neighbors will call the cops!" she said in a singsong voice, seating herself at the vanity. The pounding ceased, but the cursing did not. Humming tunelessly as she touched up her mascara, she couldn't decide whether she was more pleased by her upcoming date or by foiling whatever it was that Jareth had had planned.

With only minutes to spare before Draco arrived, Sarah was dressed and made up. Despite her reluctance to play hostess to the Goblin King, she couldn't quite shake the training that Irene, her stepmother, had drilled into her. Sarah made a quick detour to her linen closet to fetch a clean towel, washcloth, pillow and blanket and glided into the living room, her tiered mini-dress fluttering about her bare legs. She found her houseguest sprawled across her couch as if he owned it, though his expression was anything but relaxed.

Giving him a bright smile, she dumped the linens in his lap. "You'll be sleeping on the couch. The guest bathroom is through the door next to my bedroom. I suggest you take a shower. You've already found the kitchen. And here," she said, snatching the TiVo remote from the coffee table and turning on the television. "TV. So, you're all set!"

Throughout her speech he was silent and still except for his fierce eyes, which watched every move she made with a concentration so intense that she could almost feel the pressure on her skin. Feigning indifference, she grabbed her purse and keys from the telephone table just as her cell burbled with a new text message. Draco was at the complex, but couldn't find her unit. "That's my cue," she chirped. "Don't wait up!"

She shut the front door on the vilest glare she had seen any being produce.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to my beta, leanansidhe1228, and all of my readers and reviewers! Feedback is so very important, and many of you have had wonderful things to say.

No, this is not a Sarah/OC fic, though it might seem so at first. It is most definitely J/S, but he has to work for it. Yes, I know, poor baby.

Oh, and the thing with the golf cart is a shout-out to Mel Brooks, who was supposedly a demon on golf cart wheels on lot. The forgetting of Jareth's name is homage to the Witches of Eastwick… I'm probably forgetting something else, but since I've forgotten it, I can't list it now.


	4. Coffee and TV

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth and I don't make any money off it.

* * *

Chapter 4 – Coffee and TV

His wet hair twisted up in a fluffy blue towel and the rest of him wrapped in a pink robe that was too small and scandalously short, but the softest thing garment he had ever worn after his owl-feather cloak, Jareth lounged on Sarah's couch and stared unseeing at the images flickering on the television, lost in thought and feeling very, very sorry for himself.

The entire day had been a complete disaster from the get-go, and the start of his second day was rapidly approaching without any improvement (or Sarah) in sight. He _should_ have taken his owl form and followed Sarah on her outing. Better yet, he should _not_ have allowed her to leave her residence in the first place. Of all the things he _should_ be doing, watching television was not one of them. But somehow, here he was, alone in her apartment while she was entertaining another man. A _dead_ man. Well… a seriously _inconvenienced_ man when this bet was over and Jareth could set his Goblins on him. Perhaps he'd make Sarah watch as a reminder of what happened when one ditched the Goblin King.

Shifting on the couch unhappily, he picked up the flat plastic device (he'd seen them manipulate televisions on prior visits Above) that had been laying on the coffee table and began to press buttons until the images on the television changed to a scene with two young humans in a canvas structure doing naughty things that he should have been doing with Sarah.

Sarah.

She had _banished_ him – transported him to the living room and prevented him from entering her bedroom while she was still in it.

Granted, she had only sent him maybe thirty away, but she shouldn't have been able to perform that level of magic, period. Yes, he had granted her certain powers before she had wished away her brother and yes, he had fed her an enchanted peach. He hadn't really considered the far-reaching consequences of his actions at the time; she wasn't supposed to have returned to the human realm! After she had left, he had not been in the proper state of mind to ruminate on the effects of Fae magic on human physiology. Copious amounts of Goblin ale did that to one.

Jareth jumped as screams blared out of the television set, and he refocused to see a large man in a mask beating the canvas structure with an oar while the teenagers were still inside it. Shuddering, he punched at the button he had used previously and sighed in relief when the picture changed to that of a couple sitting at a small table in a dimly lit room. Their limpid gazes locked on each other, they reached across the table and clasped hands. He frowned irritably and switched pictures again. This time, it changed to that of a beautiful barn owl sitting regally in a pine tree as it preened its snowy feathers. Smiling, he set the remote back onto the table.

Also odd, but working to his advantage, was his ability to do magic while in her presence: he had been able to transport himself into her room while she was still in it. It had been sheer reflex when he had done it, and he had been just as surprised as she was when he appeared in her bedroom. Draconus, the bastard, had said, "No magic in front of the humans." _Humans_. So what did that make Sarah, other than a woman whose beauty and irresistibly were matched only by her sheer bloody-mindedness? Did that mean that she was no longer human, or did her ability to perform magic cancel out Draconus' stipulation? Jareth had no idea how to find out; it hadn't come up before.

"To attract his mate, the male barn owl hovers over the female, displaying his chest and belly…"

Blinking out of his thoughts, he watched the owl on the television trying to tempt the female into mating with him. Apparently pleased with the male, the female took flight and allowed the male to chase her through the moonlit pine forest. Mid-flight, she wheeled around and took off after him, and the male was only too happy to be chased in return. Eventually the birds got down to the actual mating, and Jareth averted his eyes respectfully. Leave it to humans to record such a private moment and put it on display for the entertainment of other humans. The perverts.

He _wished_ it were as easy as showing a little belly and then playing a game of chase to bed his temperamental female. Sifting restlessly again, he wondered if Sarah could shape shift yet. She'd undoubtedly be a barn owl as well, since she had acquired her magic from him…

'Hold on.' Jareth paused that thought to further explore the prior one. 'What if it _is_ as simple as showing some skin?' he asked himself. And the Underground knew that he _loved_ a good chase. First things first, he had to win the lady's heart through her kisses.

Pushing himself out of the squashy cushions of the couch, he padded barefoot to the telephone table where he had left his copy of the script for _Journey to the Center of the Maze_. They had filmed one scene earlier that day, and Phil had been aghast at how poorly he knew his part. Phil had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to learn tomorrow's scenes or he would find himself on a plane back to England. Just as unequivocally, Jareth had told Phil that no one would find his corpse as it moldered at the bottom of his deepest oubliette. Sarah had jumped in at that point with a bright laugh and had promised Phil that they would both rehearse their lines that night. Slightly dazed under the force of her somewhat novice, though effective, attempt at glamour, Phil had forgotten all about the plane and oubliette and had clapped Jareth on the back, wishing him a pleasant evening. His mouth twisting in a self-deprecating grimace, Jareth thought that perhaps such a strong glamour should have clued him into Sarah's proclivity for magic, but since it had furthered his plan to go home with Sarah, he had dismissed it without a second thought.

Though Jareth had no intention of rehearsing unless it was the parts with kissing, he was curious as to when he got to steal his first cinematic kiss. Sprawling back into the couch and flipping through the thick stack of papers, Jareth scanned the bits that contained interaction between his role and Sarah's. Many scenes bore a resemblance to Sarah's adventure in Labyrinth; indeed, the whole thing was uncannily familiar. Of course, he had been much wittier than this Jarlath character. Snorting to himself, he read aloud, "You have one day to reach the center of the Maze. Fail, and your little sister will be mine! Forever! Hahaha!" Shaking his head and turning the page, he scoffed, "Who writes this rubbish, honestly?"

By the time he had reached the end of the script his frown had deepened into a dark scowl. There were _no_ kisses. Not even a measly peck on the cheek! Wrenching back his arm, he was about to chuck the script at the television when an idea struck him. Jareth glanced at the lighted clock on one of the strange machines in the kitchen; it reported the time as after eleven. It seemed fairly late by human standards; the plan might just work.

Settling the script back into his lap, he flipped through the pages until he came across several promising scenes. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a crystal orb out of the ether and concentrated on the changes he wanted, but stipulated that all copies of the script were to be changed or none at all. Once the new scene was clear in his head, he pressed the crystal into the page, watching as words disintegrated into individual letters that floated in ripples around the orb as it was absorbed. If even one copy of the script was being touched or observed, then Draconus' constraint would prevent his magic from affecting it, and the entire spell would be undone. For a long moment, it seemed that the letters might reorganize to their original state, but finally, with a sudden churning and swirling, they arranged themselves into something much more agreeable. He had even improved the dialogue.

Satisfied with a plan well executed, he tossed the script onto the coffee table and turned back to the television. A bald eagle was flying over a clear blue mountain lake, her shrill call echoing off the water and the steep sides of the valley. The voice narrating informed him that the eagle was warning other eagles that the area was defended, but she was actually complaining bitterly about the local murder of crows and the mess they had made of her favorite sunning spot.

* * *

Sarah let herself into her apartment with a minimum amount of key jangling and her heels hooked by their straps over two fingers. Holding her breath, she peered around the door into the living room, half expecting Jareth's scowling face to pop up in front of her like an eighties glam-rock jack-in-the-box. The living room was semi-dark, however, lit only by a softly glowing lamp and the muted blue-green flicker of the television, which displayed a school of tuna gliding in tandem through the ocean. There was no sign of pad-crashing Fae men, but Sarah knew better than to trust appearances.

Sliding through the door, she shut it quietly behind her and eased the deadbolt into place with a faint _click_. She set her keys on the telephone table and her shoes under it, then tiptoed to the couch and peered over the back. Jareth had pushed the coffee table away from the couch and piled all of the cushions on the floor into a haphazard circle. The blanket and sheets were strewn across the cushions and tumbling onto the floor. In the middle of the mess, Jareth was sound asleep and spread out in the center, one of the sheets twisted around his legs and a corner of the blanket strategically (or accidentally, who knew) placed to reveal that he was wearing her bathrobe, a golden chain strung with three gems, an odd, sickle-shaped pendant and nothing else. The goods were covered, but he had a very well formed abdomen that the guys at the gym would have killed to acquire and a nicely ridged 'V' that started at the tops of both hips and disappeared under the blanket. Sarah approved.

As if aware of her scrutiny, Jareth muttered and shifted in his sleep, the blanket losing its tenuous grasp on his modesty, and Sarah quickly averted her eyes and bolted for her bedroom. Once the door was safely closed behind her, she collapsed against it and allowed herself an internal squealing. Presumptive jerk or not, Jareth was a _fine_ specimen of male flesh. And what a pity, to use his words, that she had met Draco just before he had wormed his way into her production.

She liked Draco; he had potential. The dark Fae was just as superbly put together (as far as she could tell through his shirt) and kissed like a demon. The _good_ kind of demon that applied just the right amount of pressure, knew how to use his tongue, didn't slobber like a golden retriever for a milk bone, and kept his hands considerately away from bits that shouldn't be touched on a first date – or kiss. He had the added advantage of _not_ being a presumptive jerk and had behaved the perfect attentive gentleman. Strangely enough, he had shown an unusual amount of attention to her diet and health. Not in the "wow, baby, you have a tight bod, do you, like, live on celery sticks and water and work out all the time?" Instead, he had insisted that she order the angel food cake with strawberries instead of the double chocolate cake.

"_Chocolate has caffeine in it. You do not need such chemicals polluting your body," he said in a reasonable tone, despite the ridiculousness of the claim. Sarah had lived on coffee since puberty. "This," he tapped the menu with an elegant finger, "is high in protein and anti-oxidants."_

"_We're drinking tea," she pointed out with a gesture at the offending cup. When he had mentioned "drinks and dessert" earlier, she had pictured an Irish coffee and something fudgy. Not this pale liquid and cake that was one step away from cloud cover._

_He raised a perfect black eyebrow and reached across the table to take one of her hands, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "Chamomile tea is a natural relaxant." So was the silky glide of his fingertips across her skin, and before Sarah could recover or protest, he had ordered healthy desserts for both of them and dismissed the waiter. "You should take better care of yourself," he murmured in a tone as sinful as the chocolate he had denied her. "_I_ will take care of you."_

_Clawing her way through the fog in her mind, Sarah took a deep cleansing breath, but left her hand in his. She had forgotten how warm and soft Fae flesh actually was. Touching him was reminiscent of being wrapped in fluffy comforters just out of the dryer on a chilly winter's evening. _

"_We just met this afternoon," she gently reminded him. She had learned with Gwydion and Jareth, to a certain extent, that Fae fell hard and fast, and though all but immortal, didn't waste time when proclaiming (or demanding) commitments. "Casual dating" was not a concept that Gwydion had understood. "I appreciate your concern, but like I said—"_

"_You can take care of yourself. Yes, I remember," he purred, giving her hand a squeeze. The heat of his hand was creeping up her arm and raising the fine hairs as if it were a current of static electricity. "Grant me this concession, which is only in your best interest, and I will grant you one in return."_

Well, what girl could resist such an offer? She had abandoned her side of the tiny booth to slide into his and had learned that he tasted like strawberry Pop-Rocks, complete with tingling fizz. She had completely forgotten to ask what his concession would be.

Sighing softly and shaking her head, Sarah pushed off the door and undressed on her way to the bed, tossing her clothes unceremoniously over her vanity stool. Clad in nothing but a pair of panties, she slipped between the sheets and curled around a pillow. Finally, in the dark of her room with nothing but the soft sounds of traffic outside her window, she allowed her mind to truly dwell on her unforeseen houseguest.

She had never expected to see him again. That's not to say that she had never _wanted_ to see him, but since the only instance that had brought him to her was when she had wished her brother to the Goblins, she had considered it a moot point. She _certainly_ wasn't going to make _that_ mistake again.

Over the years, she had come to see Toby's stint in Labyrinth as exactly that: her mistake. She had made the wish, and the Goblin King had simply collected what was rightly his. Perhaps his self-proclaimed generosity had extended to allowing the attempt to reclaim her brother; she didn't know if he was compelled to do it or not. He had even stuck to his word, relinquishing Toby when she had finally reached the Castle. Fair being fair, he hadn't "stolen" anyone.

So now the dashing scoundrel from her adolescent adventure was passed out on her living room floor, and in all likelihood would be staying with her for the next two weeks. She wasn't sure whether she was annoyed, giddy with excitement, or nervously apprehensive. To her surprise, she found that she really didn't mind all that much. Sure, it would have been nice if he had asked instead of maneuvering her into it, but this was one of the more exciting things to have happened to her in a long time. It gave her an excellent opportunity to ask some of the questions about her time in Labyrinth that had plagued her over the years. She _liked_ the idea of having the Goblin King on her own turf and somewhat at her mercy. He was definitely easy on the eyes – perhaps _too_ easy. He also bore watching, but not in a good way. She was certain that he was up to something, and it probably involved some inconvenience at her expense. She had not mentioned her houseguest to Draco. Undoubtedly, it would have complicated matters, and it really wasn't his business.

Of only one thing was she reasonably certain: by "entertainment" Jareth did _not_ mean taking him to see the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. Convinced that it would take her hours to get to sleep, she dozed off relatively quickly while wondering what a Goblin King _would_ find entertaining.

* * *

Sarah woke groggily to the harsh buzzing of her alarm and whacked the top of her clock, turning it off by feel and experience alone. Expecting blessed silence, Sarah groaned when an obnoxious rapping on her bedroom door foiled her plan to sleep for nine more minutes.

"What?" she hollered hoarsely at the door and then had to clear her throat of the frog that had taken up residence. It took her sleep-addled brain a moment to come to grips with the fact that it was probably Jareth on the other side of the door and another moment to wonder why he didn't just barge in; that seemed to be more his style. She wasn't about to complain, however, because she slept almost in the nude and her robe, which usually hung by her bed, was otherwise employed. "He'd _better_ be wearing it," she grumbled to herself as she lurched from the bed and stumbled to her dresser, pulling a pajama set from a drawer that she normally would not be caught dead wearing in front of male company. "Or maybe his own damn clothes."

"Sarah! Open this door!" Jareth's voice was strained beneath the authoritative tone, but it was much too early in the morning for her to care. He punctuated his demand with several more sharp raps. Screwing her eyes shut and scrubbing at her face, Sarah glared at the door. Knocking that loud before one's first cup of coffee should be punishable by law.

Tugging the top and bottoms into place, she snapped, "It's not locked. You open it." The knob rattled, and the door popped open to reveal a disheveled Goblin King wearing her bathrobe and an expression of desperation that was poignantly familiar. "What?" she asked again, slightly worried now. "Did something happen?"

He sized her up and then eyed her bed, relaxing into an indolently unconcerned pose. 'Is he… checking up on me?' Sarah wondered in muzzy disbelief as she rubbed a crusty eye. 'Making sure there isn't a man in my bed?' The idea was as preposterous as it was short-lived because with his feet planted shoulder-width apart and arms akimbo, he was straining the capacity of her bathrobe to keep him covered. Oddly enough, he wore the pink Hello Kitty bathrobe (her brother Toby's attempt at a joke, but it was very soft and cuddly) surprisingly well. "Are those _rabbits_ on your…" he waved a disdainful hand at her flannel pajamas.

"No," Sarah said, matching his pose and keeping her eyes resolutely on his face. They weren't rabbits, they were dormice, and they were sipping tea with Alices and Mad Hatters. "Were you trying to break my door down just to insult my pajamas?"

"No, though since you have mentioned it…" His gaze became less invasive and more calculating, a curious and excited light dancing at the backs of his mismatched eyes. Twirling his wrist, he produced a crystal orb, and in the same movement, lobbed it at her chest. Sarah had barely managed a squeak of surprise when she felt a telltale draft around her thighs and arms. Glancing down in dread, she saw that he had transformed her pajama set into a baby doll top and bloomers the size of hot pants. The dormice were _still_ having tea with Alices and Mad Hatters, only now the Alices wore nothing but ruffled open-backed aprons and the Hatters sat proudly in the buff, their hats perched on their crossed legs. Smirking in satisfaction, he took a strutting step forward. "Ah, much bet—"

He disappeared before he could finish the sentence. Sarah's triumph was ruined when loud delighted laughter erupted from the living room. Sighing heavily as she slouched into her master bathroom to wash her face, she wondered why she had thought it might be interesting to play hostess to the Goblin King.

Twenty minutes later, a freshly scrubbed and dressed Sarah entered the living room to find Jareth lounging on the couch, which had been put back together as if it had never been stripped to make a nest of its cushions. The bedding was neatly folded and stacked beside the television, and the coffee table had been pushed back into place. Like a professional, Jareth flicked through the channels, never resting more than ten seconds on any one.

'Must be a male thing,' she though without rancor. She'd expected to still have a disaster in her living room and have to convince Jareth to clean it up. "Do you like coffee?" she asked pleasantly on her way to the kitchen.

He peered at her over the edge of the couch. "With cream and sugar," he confirmed. "Lots of sugar."

Shaking her head, she asked, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because I am as sweet as I am handsome," he quipped, giving her a jaunty wink.

Taken aback, Sarah stared at him for a long moment. He was flirting with her, she realized. It wasn't the first time, either, though for the other instances she had been too distracted to really take note. 'What is he playing at?' she wondered. 'Does he have a purpose or is he just bored and wants to cause mischief?' She supposed she would find out sooner than later, but firmed her resolve to stay on her guard. He was still watching her with that odd unblinking stare. The blue fabric of her couch reflected in his mismatched eyes, accentuating the enlarged pupil of the right and coloring both a startling shade of cerulean. Feeling her own beginning to water in sympathy, she blinked several times.

"Not to mention modest," she called over her shoulder as she rounded the peninsula counter separating her kitchen from a tiny eating nook that was really just an extension of her living room. Filling her electric kettle with water from the Brita carafe in the fridge, she opened the cupboard above the French Press. Three pairs of yellow eyes stared back at her, round, yellow and lamp-like.

Stumbling backward, Sarah shrieked in surprised and pressed a hand to her swiftly beating heart. Just as startled, two of the Goblins jumped and smacked their heads against the bottom of the shelf. The middle one met Sarah's shriek with a high-pitched squeal and sprayed her front with masticated coffee beans. Laughter erupted from the living room, and Sarah glared over her shoulder at the mop of blond hair visible over the back of the couch.

"Jareth," she snapped, brushing gooey grit from her tee shirt, "would you like to explain why there are Goblins in my cupboard eating my coffee?"

"Not particularly," he said, still laughing, as he pulled himself up to lean his elbows on the back of the couch. His expression dissolved into a slightly pensive frown. "Though, coffee isn't good for Goblins – it winds them up. They'll be eating the furniture next."

Feeling a headache coming on, Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. After a moment of mental rallying, she opened her eyes and sighed. "I'd rather they didn't. Why don't you send them back Underground, and we'll hit Starbucks on the way to the studio?"

Jareth was on his feet in a gracefully feline move and prowled toward her. Sarah did not like the predatory look on his face or the sudden squishiness of her insides. Grinning with a mouthful of sharp teeth, he purred, "Requesting a favor of me, are you, precious thing?"

Clearing her throat just in case her voice decided to quaver, Sarah straightened her spine and tried not to notice that a burgundy shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest now framed his pendant. His dark denim pants were skinny-cut and fitted to his lean thighs. He could have passed for a typical would-be actor if not for the black leather gloves that covered his hands. Meeting his gaze challengingly, she said, "I wouldn't have called that a request _or_ a favor."

"I would," he said lowly, "and favors aren't free, as surely you know. However," he said, stopping her protest with a raised hand, "I don't ask for much."

"Let me guess," Sarah growled, her irritation quickly outpacing her attraction to the man. "Fear you, lo—"

"Ah, ah," he chided softly and pressed a gloved finger against her lips.

Sarah jerked her head back and glared at him. "Stop doing that."

He merely smiled and propped an arm against the wall, leaning toward her. "Nothing as grandiose as all that. How about…" he trailed off and appeared to give it some thought, "… a kiss."

"What's with you and kissing all of a sudden?" Sarah asked as alarm bells began to ring in her head. It wasn't that the thought hadn't crossed her mind, nor was she particularly opposed to the idea, but he seemed to be stuck on it. This was the second time in two days that he'd asked for one. Thinking back, she remembered that Jareth had banished both she and Hoggle to the Bog of Eternal when she had kissed the dwarf. Unfortunately, she now had approximately twenty minutes to get a cup of coffee and arrive at the sound stage on time, and she didn't relish the idea of Goblins chewing on her living room set. Before she could further analyze her actions or give Jareth time to add anything to his ridiculous demand, she pecked him on the cheek. His skin felt like velour against her lips, and a beguilingly sweet, spicy scent filled her nostrils, tempting her to linger despite her misgivings. She resisted, drawing away quickly to grant him a bright smile.

He blinked at her sudden move and almost lost his balance, grimacing down at her in startled surprise. "That wasn't what I had in mind," he protested as she brushed by him and walked toward the door, her hips swaying of their own accord.

"Hm," she hummed noncommittally. "Now would be a good time to send the Goblins home. We have places to be."

"I see I'll have to be more specific," he grumbled at her back. Sarah just chuckled.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to my readers, reviewers and last but not least, my wonderful beta leanesidhe.

The title of this chapter comes from the song of the same name by Blur. It has the most awesome video. Go check it out.


	5. Once More With Feeling

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I don't make money off it.

* * *

Chapter 5 – Once More With Feeling

"I'm sorry, Jareth, but they really must come off."

"I'd rather they didn't."

Sarah took a sip of coffee and tried not to snicker as she watched Wensleydale from Wardrobe try to argue the Goblin King out of his gloves. They had several more minutes to resolve the dispute, for the lighting technicians were still taking measurements and adjusting the lights as the stand-ins earned their keep. She was curious as to what was underneath the butter-soft leather as well. Granted, he hadn't been wearing them last night when he'd been sleeping, but she hadn't been looking at his _hands_.

"You don't really have a choice in the matter," Wensleydale said, matching the king's unmoved stare and raising him a haughty lift of his chin.

"I assure you, I do." Jareth met the raised chin with a tilt of a slanted eyebrow.

The muscles of Wensleydale's jaw rippled beneath the skin, but the man held his implacable expression. "They are not part of the wardrobe in this scene. Therefore, you must remove them."

"No."

She couldn't help it: Sarah snorted, then tried to disguise it with a cough. Unfortunately, the cough turned into a chuckle and then her shoulders were shaking, and she had to steady her coffee before she ended up wearing it.

Both men glared at her. "Sorry," she said, not meaning it in the slightest. This was the most fun she'd had on set since the production had started, and the morning had just begun. She fought to school her expression into the gravitas that both men seemed to think that the situation required, but she only ended up snorting again. "Sorry," she repeated and hid behind another sip of coffee.

"I am pleased that we amuse you," Jareth sniped. "Wednesdaydale—"

"Wensleydale," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"Right. I wore these gloves yesterday in the fountain scene. I see no reason for me _not_ to be wearing them in _this_ scene."

"That is why _you_ are paid to act, and _I_ am paid to dress you. Take them off."

"No."

"Now!"

"No," Jareth drawled more slowly as the wardrobe man's flushed face began to turn an alarming shade of purple. Sarah had never liked Wensleydale; he was a pompous, self-important pain in the ass that treated the rest of the cast with courtesy all but buried by a thick layer of condescension. However, she didn't want him to die of an aneurysm because Jareth had chosen that moment to be insufferable.

"Jareth," she said soothingly, interrupting Wensleydale's next protest. "Why don't you want to take off your gloves?"

"I am the Goblin King, Sarah. The Goblin King wears gloves. Therefore, the gloves stay on."

"Method actors," Wensleydale huffed. "Listen, you—"

"Wensleydale," Sarah said clearly, meeting his frustrated gaze and tumbling his will with her own, "one second." His eyes filmed over, and his face slackened. Perhaps she had overdone it just a smidge. Sarah grimaced as she turned back toward the Goblin King. "Jareth, you made yourself the star of this production. Now you have to start following the rules, which includes cooperating with the crew."

"Sarah," he purred, stepping close to her and invading her space. "Do you want to see my hands?" He held up the gloved appendages and splayed his fingers, presenting them as if they were a decadent temptation.

Sarah very much wanted to see his hands, and the thought of it sent a naughty thrill through her blood. It was ridiculous, but there it was, and she made a mental note to take a look that night when he was sleeping so she wouldn't have to actually _admit_ to that desire. Grasping his fingers and lowering them without giving them a second glance, she gave him a stern look. "I want to start filming this next scene so that we can finish somewhat on schedule today."

He smirked knowingly and slid his fingers through hers. "The gloves stay on… unless you'd like to make a bargain?"

Freeing her fingers, Sarah turned to Wensleydale, who still stood slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. "I think the scene would be improved by the gloves," she said clearly and unequivocally. "And perhaps a riding crop," she added so that he would leave to go find one.

"Yes, I think you're right," he said vaguely and wandered off in the direction of one of his gofers. Frowning, Sarah watched him leave and wondered why Jareth hadn't simply enchanted him, but she supposed that he enjoyed being contrary.

Sarah's train of thought stuttered as her eyes once again swept the set. 'Where is Draco?' she thought, glancing behind her and peering into the darker corners of the sound stage. She didn't see him anywhere – hadn't seen him yet that day, in fact. "Kathy, have you seen Draco?" she asked the make-up lady as the woman walked by.

Waving an airy hand, Kathy didn't even slow her gait to answer, "He's around somewhere."

"Who?" Jareth asked, but she didn't have a chance to elaborate before Phil was shouting for the cast to take their places for the rehearsal of the first scene.

The scene took place in a hedge maze, though instead of boxwood bushes, the walls were tall tangles of white roses. Two long rows of it had been brought in from a local nursery, and the backdrop was a green screen, which would later become the third wall of roses with the Castle Beyond the Goblin City rising in the distance beyond it. Sarah had seen concept drawings, and most of them looked like something out of a classic Disney animation. The Goblin King's castle, with its asymmetrical turrets and sharp spires, was much more interesting.

This particular section of the maze wasn't a typical passage, but a wide-open space with a quaint duck pond ringed with lilies and reeds. A willow tree arched gracefully over the pond, its branches weeping to the surface of the water. Puppet birds that looked more like parrots than ducks where placed amongst the plants. She and a three-foot tall puppet cat wearing a feathered hat and thigh-high boots were standing at the entrance of set, waiting for their cue. Her own costume was another faux medieval gown that would have thrilled her as a teen, but was now too tight in some spots and itchy in others.

Finally, Phil gave the cue to begin.

"We can rest here," Scaredy the Cat seemed to say as the puppeteer maneuvered him to walk along side Sarah. The set was raised, with an open space below and thin tracks cut into the floor so that the puppet could be moved and manipulated from underneath.

"My feet ache," Sarah recited, "but I don't think we have time for a rest."

Scaredy stopped walking, shooting nervous glances around him with his glass eyes. "Nonsense! This way will cut off—"

A throat cleared itself, and Scaredy and Sarah glanced around, finally spying Jareth lounging on a thick willow branch, his back propped against the trunk and his legs crossed at the ankles. He wore a long scarlet velvet tunic over black leggings secured at the waist with a wide golden belt. His cape had a heavy fur collar, and his tall black boots had similar fur ruffs just below the knees: a conglomeration of baron and barbarian. Wednesdaydale—_Wensleydale_ had been right, the fine leather gloves did not match.

Scaredy yowled in fright and cowered on the ground.

"What were you saying?" Jareth said, all false and slightly menacing courtesy. "Please, do continue."

The puppet hesitated for a moment and then began to quake theatrically in his boots. Sarah resisted the urge to glance at Phil. Those weren't Jareth's lines, not exactly, but they were close enough that nobody was stopping the scene. The puppet cat wrung his hands. "Nothing! I— I w-was just, that is to say—"

"Nothing? _Nothing?_ Nothing, tra-la-la?" Rolling gracefully from the branch and landing on his feet, Jareth stalked towards them. Sarah hardly had to act as she took an anxious step backward, her confrontation with this man in the tunnels of Labyrinth coming back to her in full force.

"You weren't showing her a short cut, were you?" His tone became richer, darker, and he stopped in front of the puppet, glaring down at it. "Well?"

"No!" the puppet squeaked. "Never, Your Majesty! I was showing her the way back to the beginning, I swear!"

"Of course you were," he said with a sharp smile and then turned to Sarah. "And you, little princess. How are you enjoying my labyrinth?" He relished the last word as he leaned toward her, smirking devilishly.

It took a good part of Sarah's willpower not to snap that it was a piece of cake. She had always disliked this line. "It is formidable, King Jarlath, but I am up to the challenge."

Formidable, indeed. _She_ would never had admitted to that.

"Are you now?" he purred, sidling closer and reaching for a lock of her hair. He twirled it between his gloved fingers as he watched her closely. Sarah was silent for a brief moment as she tried to figure out what to say. The king was supposed throw to fly into a rage, not flirt with her! The scene had begun to deviate into foreign waters, but since Phil had not yelled for them to stop, then he must like how it was going.

Lifting her chin, bringing her face that much closer to his, she said, "Do your worst, Goblin King, and I will triumph!"

"Brave little princess," he whispered, and somehow, his hand was tangled in her hair and he was pulling her into a kiss. His lips had just touched hers when she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

"Phil!" she snapped, rounding on her director, who was leaning forward in his chair and for intents and purposes looked as if he had been raptly watching the scene. "This isn't how this scene goes!"

Phil frowned. "What are you talking about, Sarah? I've been following along. If anything, Jareth, here, knows his lines better than you do!" He brandished his copy of the script.

"What? No!" Sarah stalked forward and snatched it out of his hand. Scanning it, she saw that Jareth had, indeed, recited his lines verbatim, and she had misspoken several. "This isn't right," she said, flipping several pages forward, then back. "It's been changed!"

"It's the same in my copy," one of the puppeteers said as he peered over her shoulder, comparing scripts. "Though, it does seem like this scene was a bit different…" He blinked owlishly behind coke-bottle glasses and then shrugged.

"It can't be," Sarah protested as she skimmed the scene again.

_Princess Serena gazes admiringly at the dashingly handsome Goblin King. _

_Jarlath, G.K: Are you now?_

_Jarlath is seductive and irresistible to the young princess. He touches her and she falls under his spell._

_Princess Serena: (whispers) I will do my best._

_Jarlath, G.K: Brave little princess._

_Jarlath leans in and kisses the princess, who sways in his arms…_

Sarah snorted and handed the script back to Phil. "I'm not saying that shit."

Waving a hand dismissively, Phil took the script and jotted a few notes in the margin with the pen that had been tucked behind his ear. "Yes, yes, it's a bit insipid. Your change was fine."

Refusing to be dismissed, Sarah crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned into Phil's face. It was the best way to get his attention. "And since when did the Goblin King start kissing the Princess? Aren't they supposed to be adversaries?"

"I think it lends a certain sexual tension that would otherwise be lacking," Jareth said right next to her ear. His hot breath bathed the shell of her ear and tickled the fine hairs on her cheek. She would have to have a conversation with him about personal space – right after her heart rate slowed to something approaching normal.

"Sex sells, Sarah," Phil quipped. "And it's right here in the script. Take your places."

"But—"

"Come, princess." Jareth glided toward his mark and beckoned to her, his wicked smirk much too self-satisfied for Sarah's liking. He'd done something to the script, she was sure of it, but this wasn't the time to make a scene.

"Okay, Sarah, let's start from your line, 'Do your worst…' and remember, you are young, innocent, and enchanted by Jarlath. You probably have a crush on him. You _want_ him to kiss you, but you won't take the initiative. Make him work for it! Jareth, you want to seduce Sarah from her goal with your virility." Phil shot him a purely male grin that Jareth returned. "I liked your hands in her hair… that's good," he said as Jareth wound his fingers around thick locks and stepped close to her. Sarah glared at him, silently promising retribution. "Right! And…" he pointed at them, indicated that they were to proceed.

Seething within, especially about the having a crush on him comment, Sarah composed her features into that of an infatuated, but wary, princess. She was _not_ going to "sway into his arms." At least this way, she would get to find out how he kissed with no residual guilt about her possibly burgeoning relationship with Draco. Granted, they had only gone on the one date, but she wasn't the type to date – or kiss – several men at once.

"Do your worst, Goblin King, and I will triumph!" This time, she put more defiance behind the words in the hope that it would irritate him. If anything, his smirk only became more smug.

"Brave little princess," he murmured, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel the brush of his breath against her lips. The hand in her hair tugged her forward, and she momentarily lost her balance, her lips meeting his with more force than she'd have preferred. He wrapped an arm around her back and cupped her head in his hand, pressing his advantage. Sarah forgot to be annoyed; his lips were warm and silky soft, tasting of peach lip-gloss and something tangy that curled her eyelashes. The altered script, the cast and crew, the thing she might have with Draco melted away in the wake of her desire for _more_, and she kissed him with an abandon that she didn't know she had. Later, she wouldn't be able to remember who had opened to whom, she would only recall immersing herself in the heady deliciousness of him. He pulled away slowly, looking as stunned as she felt and very thoroughly kissed. His pupils were widely dilated, the irises electric blue rims, and he ran the tip of his tongue slowly across his top lip. It was all she could do to not grab two fistfuls of hair and drag him back into another kiss.

Releasing her, he took a cocky step backward and tugged at his collar. The self-satisfied expression fled his features, and he narrowed his eyes. "You can do better than that."

"_Excuse_ me?" Sarah gasped in incredulity. Was he saying that she was a bad kisser? After _that_?

"Now what?" Phil shouted in exasperation. "I want to finish this run-through!"

"I _said_ you can do better than that. She is not feeling it." He directed the second comment toward Phil, who had his head clutched in his hand and was glaring at them between two fingers.

"It looked fine from over here," Phil snapped. "Quite realistic. In fact," he gestured to one of the cameramen, "get a close-up of that kiss." The cameraman nodded and made a note on his script.

"She is supposed to have a crush on me. I do not believe her infatuation."

"Ja_reth_—" Sarah groaned. What an impossible cad he was.

Jareth held up a gloved finger. "No, precious. If you are going to do a thing, you must do it _right_." She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Sarah, don't defy—"

"_Don't_," she placed her finger over his lips this time, silencing him, "say it. Can we pick up at the kiss?" she asked Phil over her shoulder. He made a mocking gesture that she took for agreement. "Fine," she said, trying her best to sound as if kissing the Goblin King were a chore. "I'll be more _infatuated_."

He tried harder this time; she could tell. The hand in her hair massaged her scalp in rhythm with press and pull of his lips. Now that she was expecting his intoxicating flavor, she had the presence of mind to swoon into him, just a little, and to raise her foot daintily into the air. Of their own accord, her hands clutched at his shoulders, and when he slanted his mouth to deepen the kiss, she nearly wrapped her ankle around his knee. Oh, but he was heat and honey and sin… and he was pulling away again. Sarah almost groaned in disappointment.

Extricating himself from her embrace, he fingered his collar again. Sarah felt her eyebrows knit. 'What is he _doing_?' she wondered, and was about to ask when his face fell into a lost expression reminiscent of when she had spoken the words that had ended the game in Labyrinth and sent her home.

"You don't really feel it," he said quietly. He took a slow step backward and turned away from her. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of gold in his eyes and pale feathers intermingling in his hair, as if he were on the cusp of transformation.

'_You have no power over me…'_ It seemed that _she_ had a certain amount of power over _him_. 'What does he _want_ from me?' she wondered, faint pangs of guilt and remorse plucking at her heart strings, though of what she was guilty, she had no idea.

"Jareth, I was _acting_. It's my _job_." His head jerked slightly as if in pain. Without thinking, she reached for his shoulder and clasped it tightly, stepping toward him. "Jareth," she started, but when he looked down at her, his eyes dark with sorrow, she couldn't remember what she had been about to say. She sighed and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Let's just get through this. When we wrap for the day, I'll take you out somewhere fun to celebrate Friday night."

"On a date?" he asked, a bit of his snap resurfacing in the quirk of his lips.

"Um… sort of like," she prevaricated. It would have been a date if she hadn't started seeing someone else first. The idea of dating him was more thrilling than it should have been. It was probably just as well that it wasn't _technically_ a date; he would be leaving in two weeks.

"You will wear that dress you wore last night." Raising an imperious eyebrow, the lost and lonely Jareth was replaced by the demanding Goblin King.

"I just wore that last night. And, since I haven't exactly decided where we'll go, a dress might not even be appropriate." At this, he looked intrigued, and the expression was so endearing that she grinned and pecked him on the cheek.

"When you're ready…" Phil said snidely from his director's chair. "Let's pick up where we left off."

* * *

She did _not_ wear that dress or any other, but Jareth could hardly find fault with her close fitting jeans or clingy short-sleeved top. Fae women tended to go for elaborate, multi-layered dresses with outrageous collars and skirts too wide to fit through a door. Though he appreciated creativity in fashion, there was something charming in the frayed holes at her knees and the way her tee shirt stretched across her breasts. The rear view was just as delightful as the front, and now he understood why so many women insisted that he walk ahead of them, and it had nothing to do with deference.

The venue, however, left much to be desired. Jareth had read about romantic liaisons Aboveground and had participated in quite a few with various Fae women Underground, so he considered himself an expert on romance. This place was about as unromantic as it could get. It was loud, poorly lit and smelled of greasy food, feet and disinfectant. The greater part of the area was taken up by a number of long varnished wooden lanes, at the end of which were sets of oblong objects standing in a triangle. Sweaty humans rolled balls down the lanes, hooting, hollering and generally carrying on like barbarians when the balls struck the objects. There was enough ale flowing to float the Goblin Army, and that was saying something. Something about the place jogged his memory, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was. He knew that he had never been somewhere like it before.

"What _is_ this place?" he asked with obvious distaste, eying the row of drunken sods at the bar and feeling his Goblin-kicking foot twitch in agreement.

"A bowling alley!" Sarah chirped brightly as she led him past a counter that held shelves of hideous shoes to a couple of stools at the bar.

"Ah." So they called this farce of a game "bowling." Leave it to humans to turn something Goblins did by instinct into an organized sport. "And how does one 'bowl'?"

"I don't know; I'm a terrible bowler. I only come for the beer. And _that_."

"And _that_ would be?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Rock Band!" She grinned ear to ear. "And look, no one's using it!"

"Such a pity," he muttered as she ordered two pints of something and dragged him toward a collection of small plastic objects that resembled musical instruments.

Sarah turned to him earnestly, her eyes glittering with excitement. "Look, I know you like to sing. I'm decent enough at bass. It's a game and music! It'll be fun!"

And it was. Once he got the hang of watching the small television for his part, timing the moving lyrics with the little yellow bar and only improvising when his bar was lit with yellow scrollwork, he found that he was quite enjoying himself. Within a couple of songs, he had moved up to "hard" (he had snickered to himself about that term and only moved up to "expert" because he was one) and between he and Sarah, beat the other humans who had dared to compete against them. Sarah was decent enough at the bass line on medium and could be encouraged to sing chorus on some of the songs, though he stopped doing that when it was obvious that she had the musical acuity of a rock troll. They had drawn quite a crowd by the time they played a fast-paced song about something called a "suffragette." He hadn't a clue what one was, but Sarah had insisted, so how could he refuse? Not only was it perfect for his range, he was absolutely positive that Sarah had been missing more notes on this song because she was watching his posterior as he strutted the length of the microphone cord. He hoped that she had noticed that all of the other female patrons were watching as well.

As the final notes died, the bowling alley exploded with applause, and Jareth bowed grandly, gracing his audience with a dashing smile. The microphone was tugged out of his hand as several members of the crowd pressed forward, maniacal adoration shining in their eyes.

"Ohmygod ohmygod!" one woman squealed as she clutched at his arm. "I had, like, _no idea_ you were in town! Will you sign my breasts?"

"Well, yes, I'm… What?" Jareth stared, flabbergasted, as the woman hiked down the top of her camisole to expose the top of her bosom. She had pressed a writing utensil into his hand, and he held it limply, almost unaware of its presence. Usually when people recognized him, there was cowering, tears, and sometimes thrown objects, but usually no breast-baring. Los Angeles rose a notch in his book.

"And sign mine too!" a girl next to her exclaimed as she hopped in place, chest similarly exposed.

Sarah came to his rescue with the judicious use of pointy elbows. "Oh, for crying out loud," she snapped at the women who were in danger of falling out of their tops. They protested stridently as she pushed between them and the object of their fanaticism. Wrapping her hand around his forearm, she pulled him with her toward the bar. "Do you really think _he_ would be _here_?"

"Sarah, I insist that you unhand me," Jareth said firmly, though he made no real effort to withdraw from her grasp. Jealousy was a very good sign, and it would do to encourage it. "I must see to my fans."

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head, then waved at the bartender to catch his attention. The prize for winning the game was a free pitcher of ale. "They thought you were someone else, a rock star. I seriously doubt that they've heard of the Goblin King."

The soft lights above the bar bathed her in a warm yellow glow, richening the color of her long brown hair. She smiled wryly, a gentle twist of her lips, and her green eyes sparkled with equal parts humor and exasperation. Her face was still flushed with the excitement of their performance, and Jareth decided that he hadn't seen a more beautiful creature in all the worlds.

Dress or no dress, this was probably the first occasion they had spent together time together where they had not been adversaries. As much as he enjoyed baiting her, he thought the moment called for a little romance. Sarah was a very unique woman, but she was still very much a woman. They liked to be complimented, pampered, and presented with tokens of regard… He should give her a gift. In the meantime, perhaps if he explained a bit of what he felt for her, he could win a kiss that was not _acting_.

"That is what made you special," he said, fingering a lock of her hair in mimicry of the first scene they had shot that day. Propping an arm against the bar, he leaned toward her, smiling when she didn't pull away.

Tilting her head and gazing at him through her lashes, she said, "'_Made_ me special'? Past tense?"

"Would you like me to enumerate the ways in which I find you special now?" Even in the dim light, he could see her rising blush.

She opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by a strident ring from her purse. The moment broke as she fumbled for the bag, pulling her cell phone from a side compartment. Cursing his luck and inability to perform magic, Jareth scowled at the little device as she put it to her ear.

"Oh, hi!" she exclaimed into it, her smile brightening several notches and illuminating the dirty little bowling alley. Several of its equally filthy male denizens took notice, much to his displeasure. He shot them fulminous glares, and they quickly turned away. "Where were you today? Kathy said she saw you, but—" She paused, and Jareth strained to hear the other voice on the line. The crash of balls striking pins and the "Rock Band" game made it impossible for him to detect anything more than a faint mumbling. Who was she talking to? She had said a name on the set earlier, something like… Draven? Paco? Drogo? He should have paid better attention, but he rarely cared enough to remember someone else's name, Sarah being an exception. Not that the wretched human's name was important.

"Oh, I see," Sarah said into the phone and paused again. "Well, actually, I'm at Pickwick Bowling with a friend. No, just a friend." Jareth felt his heart dislodge from his chest and plummet into his stomach. "Sure, tomorrow night is fine. Looking forward to it!" The warmth in her voice was telling; she must be talking to the man that she had gone out with last night.

"I think I've had quite enough of this," Jareth said, abruptly pushing away from the bar.

"Hold on one sec," Sarah said into the phone and then looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? Why?" Turning his back on her, he didn't answer, striding angrily toward the exit.

"I'll call you back," he heard her say, then her quiet footfalls hurried to catch up with him. "Jareth, wait! Where are you going?"

Slamming through the doors, he stalked into the parking lot. A swift glance around confirmed that he would not be able to transform immediately, and he wanted nothing more than to kick something, preferably the man who had called Sarah. A _friend_, she had called him. A bloody _friend_. Friends were for cowardly dwarves and great orange beasts. How _dare_ she flaunt her paramour when she was supposed to paying attention to _him_!

Movement in the sky caught his eye, and he looked up, spotting a sleek black raven perched on a wire that ran from a tall pole to the roof of the bowling alley. It fluttered its feathers mockingly, and Jareth snarled at it. He'd recognize that bird anywhere. Snatching a small chunk of blacktop from the ground, he chucked it at the bird with a curse. The raven cawed as it leapt off the line, easily dodging the missile, then landed again, croaking in laughter.

"Jareth, _stop_! What's wrong with you?" Panting slightly, Sarah planted herself in front of him, arms akimbo as she glared at him.

"Wrong with _me_?" he sneered. "I knew you could be cruel, Sarah, but—"

"You're outrageous, you know that?" she shouted, flinging her arms out to the side. "You drop into my life after _fifteen years_ of silence and expect… I don't know what you expect! _What do you want from me_?" She all but screamed the last sentence, and her eyes glowed with yellow fire.

Staring stonily down at her after her outburst, Jareth was silent for a long moment. "I want a _chance_, precious, if you could be so _generous_," he finally hissed. He felt the moment he regained access to his magic when the last human scurried out of sight. In a shower of glitter and feathers, he transformed into his owl form and winged toward the sky.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, leannesidhe! Also, I want to express my appreciation for the kind words so many have left me. It really does feed the muse.

I've been posting once a week for the past month or so, but I'm only halfway through chapter seven, and I like to have at least a couple of chapters written ahead. I will _try_ to post again next weekend, but no guarantees.

Yes, bits of _Labyrinth_ in this chapter. Still don't own it.


	6. The Way to a Goblin's Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I don't make any money off it.

* * *

Chapter 6 – The Way to a Goblin's Heart

Sarah spent the rest of the evening on her sofa, alternately determined to not think about Jareth and worrying about where he might have gone and why he had yet to return. Was he lost? Would he be able to find his way back?

'Forget about him. He left.' She punched the arm of the couch and huffed.

Had he gone back Underground?

Sighing in frustration, Sarah jabbed at the remote to raise the volume on the television, trying to focus on the science fiction drama that was playing. She dropped the remote back onto the coffee table and reclaimed her pint of ice cream, digging out a large spoonful and stuffing it into her mouth.

What a miserable end to an otherwise enjoyable Friday night.

She _knew_ that he would love that game, and he'd been so adorable, prancing around in his skinny denim and leather gloves. No one had given his wild hair or eyebrow markings more than a second glance; they'd seen stranger things earlier that day at the grocery store. She'd had more fun goofing off with him, both at the bowling alley and on set, than she'd had in a long, long time. Then Draco's call had to ruin it all.

'_I want a _chance_, precious, if you could be so _generous_.'_

It wasn't that she didn't like Jareth. For all of his failings, he was quite charming when he put forth the effort, and he knew how to have fun. His sense of humor was sharp, and she was certain that his intellect was just as keen. His kisses were downright addictive. She would not lie to herself and claim that she wasn't attracted to him, but she just didn't see how giving him the chance he had requested would do either of them any good.

He was _leaving_ in two weeks.

Sarah had never been fond of the idea of long-distance relationships. They seemed to be a disaster waiting to happen. It was difficult enough to connect emotionally with a man who was constantly underfoot. Though she wasn't quite sure how far away Labyrinth actually was, she was fairly certain that it would take more than a road trip to get there. Contact would be reduced to chats in her vanity mirror or whenever it pleased Jareth to pop in on her.

And then there was the might-be thing that she had just started with Draco. Granted, she knew little about him, but he seemed to fit into the mortal realm as if he had been there for a while. He was handsome and very pleasant company, though he didn't stir the excitement in her that Jareth did. Perhaps that was for the best: she wouldn't get swept off her feet and do something stupid.

Sarah slouched into the couch and pouted around her spoon, pressing her tongue against the cold metal. Being swept off her feet would be so much _fun_, and she had little doubt that Jareth could do just that.

The problem was that Jareth was the man in her dreams. Not _of_ her dreams; _in_ her dreams. He had been since she'd been a spotty prepubescent with a penchant for melodramatic fantasies. Jareth had simply given the Goblin King, on whom she'd been crushing for a good year prior to her careless wish, a physical manifestation. The drug-induced masquerade had already featured in several of her dreams (though they had usually ended in a kiss instead of her throwing a chair through the wall) by the time she had bitten into Jareth's peach. It had been _his face_ in the crystal that he offered her just before she won back Toby. She hadn't really noticed in those moments, as she was all caught up in the grand finale of the story, but it had haunted her in later recollections. She had spent frustrated hours dwelling on his face trapped within the crystal orb, his translucent lips moving silently.

'What had he been saying?' she wondered as she savored another large spoonful of ice cream. Would he tell her if she asked? Did he even know that he had become firmly entrenched in her dreams or had the contents of the crystal been for her eyes only?

As she had grown up, not much about her dreams had changed except for the ending of the masquerade. This meant that he had very large…_ahem_… shoes to fill – those of a preconceived, romanticized figment of her imagination – and she would have to be very, very careful that she was reacting to the man, himself, and not the fantasy. It was all very complicated, made more so by the fact that he was just as hot, if not more so, in real life.

Granting Jareth's request would most assuredly ruin anything that she and Draco might have had. She wouldn't date both at the same time, so she would have to put him off while Jareth was in town. If he found out why – and he would, since all three of them worked on the same project – then he would probably go ballistic in true Fae style: loud, glittery, and involving a bodily transformation. She wondered what form Draco might take.

Glass shattered in the kitchen and Sarah jumped, spilling ice cream on her pajama bottoms. The sound of claws skittering across linoleum was closely followed by the banging of cupboard doors as they were slammed shut.

"You'd better clean that up!" Sarah shouted over her shoulder. Frowning as she scraped ice cream off flannel with her spoon, she supposed Jareth would be back eventually, if only to reclaim the Goblins that he was _supposed_ to have sent Underground that morning.

There was a muffled protest from the kitchen, then a round of shushing, then a gruff voice said, "We will, girlie!"

"_Lady!_" another hissed, which was followed by a sharp crash, and someone squawked in pain.

The first voice repeated in a slightly more strangled tone, "We will, lady!"

Rolling her eyes, Sarah gave up on the ice cream on her pants and scooped another spoonful from the carton. She really hadn't been that worried. For all of their glassware-breaking, coffee-bean-eating antics, they seem to have been instructed to "make themselves useful." At least, that was what she'd understood through the babbling when she'd found them defoliating her houseplant for dinner. At the very least, they knew how to tidy up after themselves and their king. She now knew who had cleaned up Jareth's bedding last night.

An idea struck Sarah so hard that she almost dropped her spoon. "Hey you guys!" she shouted at the kitchen. All sounds of scurrying and clanking stopped, and she took that as acknowledgement. "Why don't you join me in the living room?"

"Did she just say—?" a Goblin whispered timidly; one from which she hadn't heard much.

The Goblin who had corrected his fellow on his form of address squeaked in outrage, "She didn't!"

"She did—!" the third Goblin's gruff voice was cut off by an aggrieved yowl.

"I have ice cream…" Sarah sang cajolingly. Goblins could eat ice cream, couldn't they?

There was silence again in her kitchen. Not sure if the sudden quiet was a good thing or a bad thing, she twisted her body and peered over the edge of the couch. Three pairs of glowing yellow eyes stared at her from around the base of the peninsula. They blinked in unison.

Grinning, Sarah held up the carton in her hand and gave it a suggestive wiggle.

The Goblins exploded into action, clawing over each other as they raced toward the couch. Yelping and grunting as knobby elbows connected with long pointed ears and sharp teeth dug into unprotected forearms, they tumbled into the living room until the writhing ball of Goblin flesh hit the edge of the coffee table with a sound much like the ringing of a gong. One of them had donned her pasta drainer as a helmet.

They lay where they had fallen and stared up at her expectantly. Suddenly realizing that she only had the one spoon between the four of them, Sarah began to drag her spoon through the confection to form curled balls. She figured that they wouldn't stay in the Goblins' hands long enough to melt. When she had three good-sized balls collected at the bottom of the cartoon, she turned her attention back to the Goblins, who were still staring up at her like accessorized Gollums.

"Before I give these to you, I want you to tell me something," she said, meeting the lamp-like gaze of the Goblin in the middle. It nodded its head vigorously, green ears flapping in its enthusiasm. "Why is Jareth here?"

"King!" the one in the middle corrected her shrilly.

"Um, yes. Why is the king here?"

The Goblin with the gruff voice volunteered, "He flew here!"

"He flew?" Sarah repeated, momentarily sidetracked. She hadn't expected that. "Then how did you get here?"

Gruff, as he became named in her head, grinned at her, showing her two rows of crooked yellow teeth. "Through the closet!"

"What? Never mind," she said quickly, deciding that she might not want to know after all. She kept a tidy closet, and the last time she had reorganized, she had not seen any passages to the Underground. Getting back to the topic at hand, she tried again. "Not how did he get here; _why_ did he come here?"

"King!" the middle Goblin shrieked again.

"Yes, yes," Sarah said, then forced herself to take a deep breath to regain her patience. "Why did the king come here?"

Gruff and Title, the Goblin so concerned about them, exchanged an indecipherable glance. 'I really should learn their proper names,' Sarah thought to herself.

"Wanted a bit of sport," the quiet one whispered. Gruff erupted into raucous, hysterical laughter, and Title kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" Clutching his leg, Gruff hopped up and down on his good one, careened into the coffee table, and barked his other shin. "Ow-ow-ow!"

"_Sport_?" Sarah asked incredulously of the only Goblin who was not cowering in fear or howling in pain.

"King likes games," Title said as he nodded sagely.

"Then what kind of game is h— the king playing?" Sarah wasn't even sure that they were still talking about the same subject. His fondness for games wasn't any big secret. While she was positive that Jareth was playing at _something_, he had seemed too serious, too in earnest, for it to be a mere game. Then again, this was a man who forced people run a maze to win back children, so who could tell?

Title blinked at her, his little green face pinched as he thought about that. "A very important game!" Throwing out his arms expansively, Title whacked the quiet one in the head with a spiked arm cuff, putting a dent in her lovely pasta drainer. Quiet toppled over without a protest.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she grumbled, admitting defeat with a resigned sigh. 'So much for that idea.' She supposed that she would simply have to wrest Jareth's true purpose for his visit out of the king, himself.

"Hold out your hands." Immediately, all three Goblins were on their feet with their hands extended, palms up. Scooping up the balls of ice cream with her spoon, she plopped one into a hand of each Goblin. The ice cream vanished before she could blink.

"Aieee!" Gruff suddenly wailed and clutched at his head, falling over into a miserable pile of brain-frozen Goblin. Title was teetering from one stubby leg to the other, moaning, and Quiet was curled up in a ball against the base of the couch.

Sarah watched them without really seeing them; she had turned her vision inward and was once again worrying at the Jareth Problem like a puppy with an expensive Italian pump. Assuming that he came back and didn't leave right away with his Goblins, would she give him his chance? He asked for so little and yet so much in that one request.

A hush had settled on the room, and Sarah shook her head free of her thoughts to see that all three Goblins had recovered and were looking at her expectantly with raised hands. Shrugging, Sarah began to scoop up more ice cream.

* * *

With a relieved hoot, Jareth finally spotted Sarah's apartment complex and tilted his wings, letting his body glide through the air toward it. He had been flying in what felt like circles for hours. At first, he had relished the cleansing feel of the wind in his feathers blowing away the heat of his anger. She had wounded him, and she hadn't even realized it. He had spoken the truth when he had said she was cruel.

To top it off, he had made that ridiculous plea. He shouldn't have said that. Did he never get tired of begging her, of laying himself bare and vulnerable to her claws? Had he no dignity whatsoever? Apparently not when it came to Sarah.

It hadn't been long before he had spotted Draconus perched on the rain gutter of one of the countless apartment complexes that riddled this part of the city. Tall magnolias spread their branches in a thick canopy over the manicured complex lawns, and it was on one of these that he alighted, his feathers fluffed in agitation as he eyed the raven.

"_Forfeiting, are we, Jareth?" Draconus the raven croaked and nonchalantly worried his impeccable feathers with his beak. "I've already picked out my mortal."_

_Moving deliberately, Jareth turned his snowy back to the raven, then twisted his head around to glare at him. "What a pity that your efforts will have been in vain," he hooted snidely. "Go back to your Mountain; I don't like being spied upon."_

_Draconus cawed in laughter. "I wouldn't either if I had just thrown such a tantrum at the woman whom I was supposed to be wooing. 'I want a _chance_, precious!' Ha!"_

_Shifting his weight agitatedly from claw to claw, Jareth opened his wings slightly and gave them an irritated flick. "Mock me again, and I'll peck out your eyes!" He ruffled his feathers as he settled once again on his perch. "She is a vexing creature, I'll give her that."_

"_And stubborn," Draconus agreed slyly. "Perhaps you aren't as irresistible as you believe? Or perhaps someone else has caught her eye? You might give up now while you still have your pride. She cannot be worth this humiliation."_

_Holding his head still, Jareth readjusted his feet until he was fully facing Draconus. He spread his wings wide and advanced, his hooked beak open aggressively. "Don't be an idiot," he hissed. "My victory is assured!"_

"_Really, Jareth? So sure of yourself?" The raven eyed him, his black head cocked calculatingly. "What was it that you did to the girl in the tunnel? Ah, yes. Let's make it ten days instead of thirteen." Rising from his perch in a flurry of white feathers, Jareth screeched indignantly. "That would give you eight days left."_

Jareth had dive-bombed him with claws extended, but Draconus had launched off his perch and into the night, cackling as he flew. Though sorely tempted to give chase, Jareth had wheeled around and flown in the direction of Sarah's apartment, the shortened deadline propelling him forward with renewed urgency.

Several hours (and fat mice) later, he had yet to find Sarah's apartment. Oh, he had spotted many buildings that _could_ have been hers – they were the same size, shape, even the same color – but as he had swooped down to what he had assumed was her living room window, he could see that it was not her dwelling. He would have transformed and transported himself magically long before now had he not been distracted by the fabulous hunting. His owl instincts were insistent in that regard, and he was feeling the drag on his wings from his bloated belly. He supposed it was probably a good thing that the Goblins helped manage the rodent population in Labyrinth.

This time, he was positive it was Sarah's apartment. He had even spotted her little yellow vehicle parked on the street below the window. Reaching out with his clawed feet and breaking the air with great beats of his wings, he alighted on the flower box beneath the living room window and peered through the glass. His feathers ruffled in agitation as he viewed the scene within.

Sarah had dozed off on the couch in front of the television, her feet curled on the cushion next to her and her head lolling against a pillow propped against the armrest, with three Goblins cuddled closely to her side. The Goblins were _sleeping_ with his Sarah! Screeching indignantly, he rapped his beak against the window, demanding entrance. Immediately, two pairs of large yellow eyes popped open and spotted him through the glass. The third snored and rolled over, still sleeping.

The smallest and quietest of the three, Rem, paled and dove under the coffee table, a poor hiding place since only his head actually fit underneath it, and his quivering rump was still in plain view. Butr, who Jareth was convinced would have been an official if he hadn't been wished away as a toddler, hopped off the couch and trotted toward the window, but not before he have Sagonm a jab in the ribs to wake him. Snorting in his sleep, the Goblin twitched and curled closer to Sarah. Through all of it, his prize was still fast asleep, her head tilted at what had to be an uncomfortable angle.

On knobby tiptoes, Butr undid the latch and raised the window just high enough for his king to fly through. Hooting in irritation, Jareth made short work of the screen still covering his entrance to Sarah's apartment and squeezed through the hole in the mesh, changing into his humanoid shape as soon as his feet touched the floor. Towering over the Goblin, who had finally noticed that Jareth was not in the best of moods, Jareth glowered at him, his mouth set in displeased lines.

"What do you think you were you doing with my mortal?" he asked the terrified little creature.

Butr wrung his green fingers and hunched his head into his shoulders. "W-we were keeping her w-w-warm for you, Majesty!"

Jareth considered that. The night wasn't particularly cold, but mortals, even magical ones, were fragile creatures. Though clothed in sleeping pants and a tee shirt, she might be susceptible to cold. In fact, two telltale points poking out of her shirt did, indeed, betray her chill.

No punishment required, then.

Nodding sharply, he strode to the couch, booting Rem's bottom to get him out of the way. Sagonm was still sacked out and snoring against Sarah's side, so Jareth grabbed him by the collar and dumped him unceremoniously over the back of the couch. The Goblin landed with a bump and a squawk, and Butr frowned, trotting out of sight, presumably to chastise him. Sure enough, Jareth heard a series of uncomfortable grunts, followed by near incomprehensible grumbling.

Gazing down at the sleeping woman, Jareth caressed the lines of her face with his eyes. She was such a tractable creature when she slept. Quiet and peaceful, she wasn't contradicting or defying him. Of course, he enjoyed her just as much when she was awake and being obstinate, even if she sometimes frustrated the piss out of him. She was vibrant and interesting, a sunny day in his perpetually cloudy existence.

He _had_ to win her. He was so very _ bored_, and he had missed her terribly. But he hadn't exactly been _wooing_ her, as Draconus had put it. Somehow, he had to inspire in her the craving for him that he felt for her. She should miss him when he wasn't in the room and yearn to touch him when he was close.

First things first, he had to eliminate the competition… _discreetly_. Striding silently across the carpet to the little table by the front door, he gingerly lifted her purse, pausing a moment to see if anything tried to hurt him. Sighing in relief, for one never knew what a ladies purse could hide, he fished around in it until he found the nasty little black device.

"Butr!" he snapped quietly, and the Goblin abandoned his torment of Sagonm to trot up to his king. Jareth handed Sarah's cell phone to him. Eye widening in wonder and shining with moist adoration, Butr glanced from the phone to his king. "Dispose of that."

"Majesty!" Butr whispered reverently, then popped it into his mouth, swallowing noisily. The other two Goblins stared at him mournfully from the shadow of the couch.

"Now let us never speak of this again," Jareth proclaimed, and all three Goblins nodded solemnly. Feeling immensely pleased with himself, he padded over to the couch and once again gazed upon his lovely prize. 'Let's see her would-be beau intrude on us now!'

With a thought, he replaced the human garb he had conjured that morning with Sarah's luxuriously soft robe and draped himself over the couch and the mortal woman. He rested his head against her shoulder and stretched out along the rest of the couch. She stirred, shifting her position to better accommodate him, and he smiled contentedly.

"You may sleep at our feet," he magnanimously instructed the Goblins who were now squabbling behind the couch.

"Yes, Majesty! Thank you, Majesty!" Butr piped cheerfully, and the threesome puttered out from behind the couch to fall into a heap of sleepy Goblins.

Sarah shifted again, mumbling something unintelligible, and then rolled her head against the pillow until she was gazing unfocusedly into his eyes. "You came back," she said, her voice hoarse with sleep and a groggy, sweet smile on her lips.

Remembering his earlier decision to romance the woman, he squelched a smart remark and instead smiled back, saying, "Of course. You doubted?"

She scrubbed a fist into her eyes and yawned. "Well, the last time you got pissed off and flew away, I didn't see you for fifteen years."

Jareth rubbed the side of his face against her shoulder, delighted that she would worry whether or not he would come back, even if she had woefully understated that particular event. It was then that she seemed to realize how closely they were entangled, and began to wriggle out from under him. Frowning, Jareth wrapped his arms around her middle. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Off the couch." She tugged ineffectually at his clasped arms and then gave him a long-suffering look. "Jareth, let go."

"You let the Goblins sleep next to you," he protested as he tightened his grip.

"Well, that's different!" She tugged again, grimacing at his strength. "I don't like the Goblins… I mean, I like them, but…" She paused to glance at his face and then rolled her eyes, apparently exasperated with his wide, predatory grin. "Damn it, Jareth, get _off_. I have to pee."

"Oh, then by all means," he said and generously released her. She sprang off the couch and disappeared into the hallway, slamming shut the bathroom door a moment later. Despite the cold, empty spot now occupying Sarah's place on the couch, he was immensely satisfied. She had implied quite a lot in that little speech. He _had_ been going about winning this game incorrectly. Tricking her into kissing him during the filming of the movie was the wrong strategy; he simply had to play on feelings that already existed! Once again confident of an easy victory, he stretched like a cat and threw a bare foot over the armrest. He almost hoped that Draconus would be watching when Sarah gave him the first heartfelt kiss: almost, but not quite.

"Jareth, why are you wearing my robe— Gah!" Sarah slapped a hand over her eyes when she rounded the entrance of the living room. "Could you at least wear something _under_ it?"

"Why?" he asked. "I like the feel of the fabric against my skin." It was _very_ soft; he would bring this with back with him when he went home. He slid a hand down his side to his thigh, petting the plush material and smiling in bliss, and Sarah whimpered in the back of her throat. It also wasn't covering much, convincing him that Sarah had more than a little owl in her if she were so affected by seeing his chest and stomach. Shifting a little so that the edges of the robe parted further, he stroked his hand down the fabric again.

She was going to _get_ a little owl in her if she kept making those noises.

"Are you hungry?" Sarah asked in a strangled rush, now looking longingly at the kitchen. "For food?" she elaborated quickly.

"No, I had a bite or two on the way," he drawled lazily and tucked a hand behind his head. Her eyes tracked the movement of his hand. It was odd, but refreshingly novel, to be lusted after by a woman for his bare skin as opposed to his keen sense of fashion. As Fae aged, they tended to be less and less excited about the naked form; after all, they had seen it many, many times before. It was with what one _dressed_ the body that made it new and exciting. Jareth had yet to reach the age that a nude female failed to arouse him, but he had dallied with several Fae women who had been more fascinated by the ties of his codpiece than the actual contents.

A breeze wafted through the window, ruffling his hair, and Sarah glanced at the hole in the screen, her mouth pursing as she eyed the tattered edges. She glanced at him askance, and he belatedly sucked in his gut in case his overindulgence still showed. If it did, she didn't seem to mind it as much as the damage to the screen. "For some reason, I don't think you mean fast food."

"No, it was fairly quick," he assured her. "I, however, was faster."

Paling slightly, Sarah grimaced. "Good for you. Um, you aren't going to…" she gestured vaguely at his abdomen, "pass any pellets or anything, are you?"

"Sarah, that's disgusting." As if his body was even capable of that in his humanoid form!

"Right. I'm going to bed," she said with finality, heading back into the hallway. Just as she rounded the corner, she grabbed the wall and shot him a stern look, pointing at the screen. "And you'd better fix that."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to my beta, leanansidhe, whose name I manage to spell incorrectly half the time. *sigh* Also, thanks to you who are reading and reviewing! I love to hear from you.

The Goblins' names were thanks to a random Goblin name generator over at Seventh Sanctum. It's pretty awesome.


	7. Throw Me Tomorrow

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I don't make money off it.

Chapter 7 – Throw Me Tomorrow

Sarah woke with a start when she hit her bedroom floor on her stomach. The floor bucked and rolled, and the panes of glass in her windows were rattling fiercely. Crashing, banging and the sound of shattering ceramics emanated from the kitchen, but she didn't know if it was more the fault of the earthquake or the Goblins' reactions to it.

"Sarah! _SARAH!_" She heard her bedroom door slam open just before a heavy weight fell on top of her, still shouting her name.

'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!' her running mental dialog chanted silently, but the first thing that Sarah said that Saturday morning was, "Oof!"

The Goblin King repeated the sentiment when three of his loyal subjects landed on his back, yowling and slathering in fear. He followed it with, "Get off my back, you mangy buggers!" Sarah would have like to concur, but she was quite out of breath.

By the time the Goblins had squeezed under her bed, the earth had stopped trembling and Sarah was starting to see spots before her eyes. "Jareth… off," she wheezed, attempting to wriggle out from under his stiff form.

"How do you _live_ in this place? Does that happen often?" he snapped in a strained and brittle tone. Sarah imagined that his muscles creaked as he rolled off her, his arms still locked around and dragging her with him.

Lying limply on Jareth's chest, she took several deep breaths and let the adrenaline ebb from her system until she could think clearly again. She had experienced her fair share of earthquakes, though none of them had been strong enough to bounce her out of bed. 'What was that, five something? Even six?' Sarah wondered absently as she stared at the bedroom ceiling, her eyes following a new crack in the plaster. 'What broke?' She was fairly certain that she had heard something smash in her bedroom, but she had no idea what.

"Sarah?" Jareth asked quietly, jostling her with his arms.

"You don't have earthquakes Underground?" Her tone was flippant, though the squeak at the end of the last word betrayed her anxiety.

He was silent for a moment, and she was relieved when she felt his grip begin to slacken. "I did hear about one; it happened… oh, ages ago, before my time. An island Above sunk into the ocean and resurfaced off the coast of what was known as the Endless Beach. Needless to say, the Beach was destroyed and the sea now washes up against the Fire Swamp."

"Fire Swamp?" Sarah asked dubiously, craning her neck to look him in the eye. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"No," Jareth said as he tugged on a lock of her hair, "but it does make the most spectacular bank of fog in which one would ever have the misfortune to lose oneself."

Realizing once again that she had lingered in the Goblin King's arms, Sarah pulled free and sat up. Jareth, however, tucked his hands behind his head and raised a wing-tipped eyebrow. She tried not to notice that he was still free balling in her Hello Kitty bathrobe by scanning her room for damage.

"The Castle Beyond the Goblin City is actually the _second_ Castle," he continued. "The first was reduced to a pile of rubble."

Speaking of rubble… "Oh no!" Sarah cried as she spotted a scattering of white porcelain by the side of her vanity. "My music box dancer!" Climbing to her feet, she tiptoed over, placing her steps carefully so that she didn't cut her feet. Forlorn bits of netting were mixed with the jagged white shards, and around the key of the music box hung a ring of gold-leafed porcelain.

"Oh," she moaned quietly as she knelt next to the mess, pulling the key from the collection of broken pieces and dusting off the music box. Bracing the box in one hand, she turned the key with the other. As the sweet melody tinkled in the air, Sarah's eyes began to prickle with moisture. It was silly to get teary about a gaudy old piece of chachki when she had no idea what else had been damaged in the 'quake, but she had had it since she was six, and it played the song that Jareth had sung to her in the crystal ballroom. Gathering the largest pieces into her hand, she opened the drawer of her vanity with the hidden compartment and pried up the false bottom, tipping them into the tiny space. The music box she laid reverently on top of the pile, then she replaced the bottom and shut the drawer. It was better than just tossing it, she supposed; who knew what the magic of the vanity would do with it.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Jareth whispered close to her ear just before resting his chin on her shoulder.

She brushed him away, not yet willing to accept the affectionate closeness that he had suddenly seemed intent on maintaining. She didn't want to get used to it. Standing up, she dusted her hands against her sleeping pants. "It's not a big deal. Let's go see what else has been destroyed." Melancholy and still slightly teary, she stomped out of her bedroom grumbling silently, 'There had better be unmolested coffee.'

As it turned out, there _was_ a bag of coffee that had escaped Goblin slobber; it had been hiding behind a collection of travel mugs. However, the power had gone out and her burners were electric, so she had no way to brew a pot. Besides her music box dancer, several wine glasses and an ornamental plate (a gift from Irene that she detested, but hung anyway on the off chance that her family would visit) had broken, and the houseplant that had been defoliated by the Goblins had fallen off its stand and now lay in a tangle of bare stalks, roots, and clods of dirt. Her cell phone had gone missing, though she figured that all cell lines would be busy, anyway. The landline was dead, so she could not call her dad or Toby to let them know that she was fine. She had little doubt that by the time she found her phone and got through to them, her dad would have pulled out his remaining hair and Toby would have about a million questions that he would spout rapid-fire at her until Irene shouted at him to stop.

About halfway through her inspection of the apartment, Jareth had joined her, now wearing a pair of fitted black leather pants and a blue shirt with foiled silver designs. The trademark gloves once again concealed his hands, and Sarah halfheartedly cursed that she hadn't taken a moment to inspect them when they were still bare.

"When are we leaving?" he asked as she vacuumed up the dirt and debris that was all that was left of her poor plant.

"Leaving?" She glanced at him, frowning in confusion. Now that the excitement of the earthquake had worn off, she found herself worrying over the request he had made of her last night and her indecision. He was going to ask about it, she was certain, and it was only fair to have an answer for him.

Raising an eyebrow, he propped his fists on his lean hips. "For the studio?"

"It's Saturday, Jareth. We have today and tomorrow off."

"I see," he said as his face fell.

Sarah just shook her head. Though she was one of the lucky few that didn't loathe her job, she still looked forward to the weekends and not going to work. Of course, it wasn't _work_ for Jareth. He was on holiday and seemed to have an itinerary chock full of finagling kisses out of her. Narrowing her eyes, she turned off the vacuum. "Which reminds me… Just how many scenes did you alter?"

"Come now, Sarah," he said cajolingly with a mocking smile, "that script was a shoddily written piece of rubbish. My changes could only improve it."

She couldn't really argue with that, but she tried anyway. "It wasn't all _that_ bad. You better not have added anything too risqué; it's being marketed for children." A thoughtful expression settled on his face, and Sarah groaned inwardly. She hadn't meant to give him ideas. A headache was creeping behind her temples, and she could ignore it no longer. "I need some coffee," she moaned, partly to distract him from whatever his devious brain was concocting and partly because it was very true. She let the vacuum handle fall and hit the carpet with a dull thud. "But there's no hot water. I suppose we'll have to see if Starbucks is open… doubtful, though."

"My dear Sarah," Jareth said as he glided across the carpet, hardly seeming to bend the fibers beneath his booted feet. "You flaunt your magic by transporting me from your bedroom, and yet you won't use it to heat water or fix a music box?"

Staring blankly at him, Sarah was momentarily speechless. "I, uh… well, no, I hadn't thought of that." Suddenly inspired, she tore out of the living room and into her bedroom, yanking open the drawer of the vanity. Prying open the secret compartment, she frowned at the empty space she found. Just to be sure, she ran her fingertips over the fine grain of the wood. Not even a shard of broken porcelain remained.

Her mood plummeted to even lower than when she had first found the broken toy, and she shut the drawer with more force than was necessary. Stomping straight into the kitchen, she dug an old unused copper kettle (another gift from Irene) out of the depths of her cupboards and filled it with water from the Brita carafe from the fridge. With a sigh for all of the food that might spoil while waiting for the power to be restored, she slammed it onto a burner and then glared at it until the burner glowed red with heat. In several minutes, the kettle was whistling shrilly, but Sarah was left drained and exhausted. With shaky hands, she poured the hot water over the grounds and retired to her dinette table to rest. Jareth had already taken the other chair.

"Sarah," he said as he stared at her intently, his eyes unblinking. She wanted to hit her forehead against the table; he would choose _now_ of all times to ask her about his request. "Why do you always insist on doing things the hard way?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, too relieved to bother taking offense.

"You could have simply coaxed the water to heat itself, and yet you expended considerable energy to heat the burner instead." When she didn't respond, he leaned forward on his elbows, lacing his fingers together to form a cradle for his pointed chin.

"Tell me, have you ever attempted to shape shift?"

* * *

"Jareth, I think this is a really bad idea," Sarah said as she eyed the slope of the hill with clear misgivings.

They were high up in the canyons where the hills rolled gently, then steeply down, cut periodically by a two-lane road or a palatial estate. Sarah's car was parked at a lookout point, and they had trekked off the road, following a narrow path that appeared to have been trampled by deer. They were invisible from the road and curious eyes, though the only people around roared by the lookout point in expensive sports cars or motorcycles.

It hadn't rained for well over four months, so the grasses and low scrub that covered the hill were dry, brittle, and a cigarette butt away from bursting into flame. To the west, the Pacific Ocean glittered through the dips between rounded peaks, tiny boats dotting the horizon like scattered glass beads. Instead of dull brown, the hills were painted brilliant magenta as the sun sunk below the ocean and set it ablaze. In the far distance, purple dusk had already fallen over the city, the pinpricks of lights and ghostly shapes of buildings barely discernable through the smog layer that always blanketed it.

"Nonsense. It's a brilliant idea," Jareth assured her confidently. It _was_ brilliant, though not for the reasons that she might be thinking. He had no idea whether or not she could actually shape shift and didn't care beyond simple curiosity. Using it to distract her from finding a way to contact her soon-to-be-ex-beau was sheer genius.

She was very put out about her missing cell phone. The Goblins had kept their word and hadn't mentioned its ignoble end, so she still hadn't a clue what had happened to it. Lucky for him, she had tossed the little scrap of paper on which the man had written his number after she had saved it to her phone. He _had_ gotten very tired of listening to her bemoan the fact for the past two days.

Saturday had been an odd day, even by Jareth's standards. For much of the day, Sarah's neighbors had seemed to spring out of the very woodwork, dropping by to breathlessly recount their whereabouts during the few seconds of shaking. Several of them were still scatterbrained with shock, and one swore that he was moving back to Chicago and civilization. All of them peered around Sarah's living room and kitchen, eager to see signs of destruction and mayhem. Jareth watched it all with a disdainful eye, choosing not to remember his panicked flight into her room, though he was proud of how gallantly he had protected her fallen form with his body. Several women were duly impressed by his story, and Sarah was the recipient of many jealous glances.

As soon as the electricity had been restored, Sarah had turned on the television and set it to a channel that discussed current events. Jareth was disgusted yet fascinated; there had been close-ups of structural damage of buildings and interviews with humans sobbing in fear and grief. Many people had been injured, and even they had not been afforded their privacy. "Human Interest" stories, Sarah called them. Despite the hours that the television had been on, Jareth had learned very little about the actual event. Strangely enough, the hours had flown by, though that might have had more to do with Sarah's warm presence nestled against his side on the couch.

Amidst the horror stories about the earthquake broadcast on the television and the neighbors incessantly knocking on the door, the telephone began to ring off the hook. Sarah had spent a good hour placating her father and brother, and the emotional connection between them had made Jareth a bit nostalgic for a family of his own. He couldn't quite remember his parents beyond a flash of pale blond hair and the scent of peppermint. To whom these memories could be attributed, Jareth had no idea. For as long as he could remember, which only went back to his teenage years, he had lived in Labyrinth with the Goblins. Fae had come and gone, some staying for years and some just passing through, but none had ever shown an interest in being a parental figure. Sometimes, Jareth wondered if he had once been a wished-away human child who had been collected and been raised by Goblins, the magic of the Underground altering him until he was no longer human. At others, he thought that his parents must have been the prior monarchs of the Goblin Kingdom, but had met a foul, fatal and mysterious end. Whatever the case may have been, Jareth was certain that when he got around to having children of his own (preferably with Sarah), he was going to make sure they remembered him until the day they died.

He hadn't brought up his request, though he sensed that Sarah expected him to at any moment. He didn't want her answer until he'd had a chance to pursue her properly. A few days and some old-fashioned, romantic courting would make all the difference. He already had his foot in the door of her affections, so to speak; now he had to wedge it fully open and camp there.

Draconus, the bastard, had somehow managed to find Sarah's apartment and had taken to perching in the trees near the apartment building and peering through her windows. Jareth was fairly certain that the King Under the Mountain had something up his sleeve; after all, he had bribed that horrible old dwarf into helping Sarah through the Labyrinth. Hoggle probably would have helped her regardless, for people just _liked_ doing things for Sarah, but Draconus' methods were underhanded, nonetheless. It hadn't helped that Hoggle had once lived in the Mountain.

Sunday had passed in much the same way, though he had finally managed to coax Sarah out of the house by suggesting to the Goblins that a rousing game of Goblin bowling would be a splendid way to pass the time. The game involved sneaking up on one's fellow Goblin and shoving him in the back, sending him careening into a piece of furniture. Points were awarded if something was knocked over. Jareth had told Sarah that the Goblins were going stir-crazy and needed some space to run, and no, he wouldn't just send them Underground, and why didn't he just try to teach her to shape shift in the meantime?

She had brought them to the most isolated open area that she could recall that also had easy access to her vehicle. It was very beautiful and wild for being surrounded by human cities. The Goblins had quickly disappeared; they were off hunting or something. Jareth didn't really care. It wasn't as if he could lose them.

"What if I suck at flying?" Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Sarah nibbled on it.

Jareth watched, entranced for a moment, before he remembered to answer. "That's why I specifically asked that you take us to an open area. There is nothing for you to hit here."

"Except the ground," Sarah pointed out.

With an exasperated sigh, he reminded her, "You might not even take a bird shape. You might be a mule, and then all this arguing about flying will be a moot point!"

"I'd rather not learn to shape shift if I just turn into a mule!" Sarah turned to face him and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning.

"That's just your vanity talking. I'm sure you'd make a lovely mule," Jareth couldn't help but say. He knew that he was baiting her again, but he'd been good for the past two days, and she was being too obstinate to resist!

"Vanity!" Sarah squeaked. "I wonder what your basis for comparison is?"

"You seem to like to quote my words back to me," he said, smiling and tilting his head to the side so that fine wisps of baby-soft hair brushed the blue collar of his shirt. "I will choose to take that as the highest form of flattery."

Sarah glowered at him, and he had the distinct impression that she was restraining herself from stomping her foot in frustration. Deciding that he'd teased her enough, he glided behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, settling his chin on her shoulder. She jerked in surprise, since he'd moved more quickly than she could see, and craned her neck, staring at him with wide eyes. "Don't worry Sarah," he whispered into her ear. He was so close that he could have nibbled the lobe. It was very tempting. "Rest assured that the sentiment is mutual. I wouldn't bring an _ordinary_ girl out for shape shifting lessons."

Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was quick and shallow. "I don't want to be a mule," she said quietly, though he could tell that something else entirely was on her mind.

He laughed softly, stealing the opportunity to hold her close before she remembered to put distance between them. Oh, but she felt good in his arms. "You're not going to become a mule, Sarah," he reassured her. "Your magic came from me, and I have never turned into a four-legged creature."

"Then why—"

He shushed her and then nipped her earlobe to punctuate it. Her body shuddered against him, and he couldn't help but tighten his grip and press his nose against her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. She relaxed against him for one glorious moment, then pulled out of his embrace.

Chafing her upper arms despite the warmth of the evening, her eyes darted over the landscape to avoid looking at him, but the rosy glow of her cheeks was telling. "Jareth—" she started, but he was quick to interrupt her.

"Come, Sarah, let us begin."

* * *

The moon had risen high over the hills, a pallid crescent against the dark sky that glowed faintly orange with haze and light pollution, and still Sarah had not manage to grow even a feather – or a hoof.

"You are trying too hard, Sarah. You can't force it," Jareth repeated for the umpteenth time in what he considered a patient tone. "Get up and try again."

Lying on her back in the dry grass, Sarah stomped her feet against the ground and growled in frustration. "Have you considered the fact that maybe I _can't_ transform? That maybe I am doomed to stay human for the rest of my life?"

He wasn't even sure that she _was_ human, but didn't think that now was the time to mention it. Taking a seat beside her, he drew his legs up so that he could prop his arms against his knees. "Where is the girl who called my Labyrinth a 'piece of cake' and stopped at nothing to accomplish her goal?"

"She grew up and entered the real world where things usually _are_ as they seem and some things are impossible."

He regarded her in silence for a long moment, his eyes lingering on her high pale cheekbones that seemed to glow in the light of the moon. Her eyes were cast in shadow, but her dilated pupils shimmered faintly green like a cat's.

"And how are you finding it?" he asked finally, stretching out on his side to lay beside her, his head resting on a gloved hand.

Clasping her hands loosely over her stomach, she tilted her head so that they were face to face. A twig had become entangled in her long dark hair, and he gently removed it, taking more time than necessary to finger the silky strands. Her forehead crinkling slightly, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Don't you want more? The dreams, the impossibilities?"

"Of course I want more!" She batted at his hand, which had decided to take up permanent residence in her hair. "And I still pursue my dreams! I just don't use them as a mirror for reality. I'm not disappointed nearly as often."

Frowning, Jareth brushed his knuckles across her cheek. He didn't like the dry, jaded tone of her voice or the implied compromises she must have made.

"What about you?" she asked suddenly, covering his hand with her own and curling her fingers around it. He thought that she would simply remove it from her person, but she gently guided it down to her other hand where it rested against her stomach. "How has life been treating you?"

"Oh, you know," he said airily. Normally, he would have accompanied the words with a dismissive wave, but both hands were occupied, and there was no way he was going to move the hand sandwiched between both of Sarah's. "The Goblins drink, the Bog stinks, and once in a while, some fool decides that he or she is tired of something and wishes it away. The usual."

"It doesn't sound like you're living your dreams," she pointed out snidely, but smiled to soften the comment.

He raised an eyebrow. "My dreams are not that much fun without someone with whom to share them."

Sarah stared at him inscrutably for several silent minutes, too many emotions flickering across her face for Jareth to interpret. Sighing, she rolled her head until she was gazing into the night. "Jareth…" she said, and he waited tensely for what was to follow. "Is that a crow? Or a raven?"

He released his breath in a rush, only then realizing that he had been holding it. Following her line of sight, he saw Draconus wheeling high above, his black wings almost blending with the tainted sky. "Why that little—" he growled and leapt to his feet, conjuring a crystal orb to his palm. He let it fly with a great sweep of his arm, and the orb rocketed toward the bird, following him when he changed course to avoid it.

"Jareth!" Sarah gasped in horror, shrieking when the orb made contact with a burst of glitter. Draconus squawked in indignation and ducked into a dive, heading straight toward them. Materializing another crystal, Jareth pulled his arm back to hurl it, only to have Sarah latch onto hi forearm, restraining him. Draconus pulled up just before he made contact with either of them and flew off into the distance, cackling until he was out of sight. Cursing, Jareth banished the crystal and turned on the woman who had denied him his victory. He opened his mouth to chastise her, but she beat him to it.

"How _could_ you?" she asked him, disappointment and anger clearly written in the lines of her mouth and forehead.

"Very easily, precious, and if you do something like that again, I'll—"

"You'll what?" she snapped. "Dip me in the Bog? It was just a _bird_, Jareth!"

He loomed over her, his anger feeding his magic, which crackled around him like static electricity. "_Just_ a bird, you say? I thought you were smarter than that, Sarah! At the very least, smart enough to recognize a magical creature when you saw one!"

"I am too smart—!" she shouted, the stopped suddenly, her eyes widening and one hand rising to cover her mouth. "You're right…" she breathed almost to herself. "I did get that feeling when it got closer, but it happened so _fast_ and you…" She glared at him. "Still, that was no reason to go lobbing magic balls at it."

His anger began to ebb, but he wanted to make it clear to her that she should trust him to take care of her. "Just as you admit that you didn't immediately recognize him for what he was, you must also admit that you don't know his motivation. He was watching us."

"Watching us? Why?"

"He is a voyeur," he said, and it was true enough.

"Uh huh, and you would never do something like that," she drawled sarcastically. "You sound like you know him." Her tone was both playful and slightly accusatory. Folding her arms over her chest, she looked at him expectantly.

"I do know him, and you do not want to," he replied shortly, grasping her upper arms and giving her a gentle shake. "You will defer to my knowledge and experience in these matters, Sarah."

"Well…" She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, regarding him contemplatively through thick eyelashes. "Maybe this time, since you so courageously rescued us from his spying eyes." She smiled coyly up at him, and that was the collapse of the last vestiges of his anger. "But don't get used to it."

"Courageously," he repeated huskily, pulling her closer. How she had changed in the time that had elapsed! The girl that she had been would have refused to acknowledge his deed and would have railed against his claim of greater knowledge. The woman that she had become was thoughtful and flirtatious. And she had called him courageous! What wouldn't he do to hear her compliment him again?

"Mm-hm," she hummed. "Like a knight in shining armor."

He felt as if his stomach were suddenly full of his own dream-inducing drugged bubbles, bouncing off each other and popping and causing all sorts of havoc to his insides. Positive that his trademark smirk more resembled a sappy grin, he replied, "A king outranks a mere knight. But I do have armor."

She uncrossed her arms and rubbed her palms against his chest. The caress of silk against his skin and the warmth and pressure of her hands were nearly his undoing. "I know you do. Not very shiny, though. Do you have a sword as well?"

By Labyrinth, did he ever have a sword! But he couldn't decide whether she meant the sword that he was currently packing or the actual steel-forged blade that he used to run off the dragons that occasionally dropped by for Roasted Goblin in Ale Sauce. Refusing to ask and risk looking like a fool, he chose to continue the game of innuendos with a sharp smile. "The king has the mightiest of swords, long and wickedly sharp."

Her eyes glinted up at him, reflecting the faint starlight, and her lips were full and slightly parted. "So," she said, rounding the 'o' so deliciously, "will the courageous king accept a reward for saving the damsel?"

"And how would my lady reward her king?" He leaned down a bit so that she wouldn't have far to reach when she kissed him. It was very much to his confusion when she didn't kiss him at all and instead reached for the kerchief she had used to tie back her hair. With a gentle tug, she had pulled it free, and then tied it around his bicep. Jareth watched in bemused silence. Did she have any idea what she was doing?

"There. Now you are wearing my favor, oh courageous king." She grinned up at him, her eyes dancing with laughter and mischief. Jareth knew that he had been misled, but he wasn't going to complain this time. A Lady's Favor was a powerful thing. Besides, who needed to win kisses when they could be stolen?

"I shall treasure it always," he said in mock solemnity. She thought they were just playing a game, and while they were in some ways, he thought it best to let her believe that it was all in jest. Without wasting another moment, he reached for her again, intending to claim another "reward." Just as his hands began to close around her arms, she slipped away, laughing lightly. Spinning in place, she took off running, heading toward the car. "Sarah!" he shouted after her, then couldn't help but laugh as he picked up the chase.

Oh yes, she had owl in her.

* * *

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!

Betaed by leannansidhe, thank you very much! And thanks to you, my readers and reviewers! Cookies for recognizing the source of the Fire Swamp. The title of this chapter comes from the lyrics of "Thursday's Child" by David Bowie, a song that I didn't like the first time I heard it because of the odd chord progressions, but has now become one of my favorites.

Yes, I know I didn't post last week. I like to have a few chapters written ahead, and we are coming up to a spot where I'll need more chapters than usual completed. I almost didn't post this week, but this chapter is so damn fluffy that I thought it appropriate. I'm also trying to regain momentum on a Harry Potter HG/SS fic that I want to complete by July. Actually, that was supposed to be my main project, this fic was supposed to be a side project, but it hijacked my attention. I blame _you_, dear sister. And Jareth's pants. So…. don't be surprised if you don't get a chapter next week.


	8. Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I do not make money off it.

* * *

Chapter 8 – Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

Sarah sat in the make-up chair and tried not to doze as Kathy carefully applied a thick layer of foundation on her face. Usually, she made a point to go to bed early on Sunday evenings so that she wouldn't start the week tired. Last night, however, she'd goofed around with Jareth far into the evening, unsuccessfully attempting to shape shift, preparing a late dinner and finally passing out on the couch in front of the television. When she'd finally awoken around three in the morning, she'd been leaning against his side, and his arm had been wrapped around her shoulder. So much for holding him at a distance until his holiday was over. He was just so _easy_ to be with, and the more time together they spent, the more seamlessly he fit into her life. He would flash her a smile or make a condescending remark about the average intelligence of her neighbors, and she would forget that he was going to leave in a week. Jareth was worming his way under her skin, and she had a terrible feeling that he was headed straight for her heart like some exotic virulent parasite.

And after he left, when would he return? In another fifteen years? Thirty? When she was old and gray? Even if things didn't work out with Draco, at least he lived in town.

She almost groaned. Draco would most assuredly be on set today and would want to know why she hadn't called to finalize or cancel their Saturday date. That she had forgotten wasn't quite true. She had remembered several times, but she had yet to find her cell phone. Where it could have gone she hadn't a clue! She had _not_ remembered to order a new one during one of her many online sessions. Distractions abounded: there was a backlog of email to answer, a Goblin curling up on her feet, or a Goblin King playing with her hair. He had a fascination with it. Several times, she had caught herself wondering if it was an owl thing, like preening or something. She wouldn't be surprised.

'See that?' Sarah silently chastised herself. 'You can't think of anything for very long before your thoughts lead you back to Jareth.'

This wasn't a good sign, especially since she had yet to make any kind of firm decision. It wasn't like her to be this indecisive. For the most part, when she knew what she wanted, she pursued it. Now, her head was telling her that Jareth was trouble on legs, and that Draco was the more practical choice. Jareth ruled Labyrinth and turned wished away children into Goblins for a living; Draco had a job as a Production Assistant here in Los Angeles. Jareth was at turns exasperating and adorable, but never dull. Draco was attentive and conciliatory, with a strange preoccupation with her health. Both men were wildly attractive and could kiss a girl's socks off. Her heart encouraged her to flirt shamelessly with Jareth and let him play with her hair to his heart's content. That he had yet to broach the subject of his request for a _chance_ unnerved her.

He wouldn't have forgotten, would he? Had he said it in a fit of passion and didn't actually mean it? Had the whole "fear me, love me" thing been a bit of flowery speech from a man desperate for non-Goblin female companionship? Was she overanalyzing the situation as her gender was wont to do?

She had too many questions rattling around her brain and too little courage to ask them. At times, their peace seemed brittle, as if they were treading on different sides of a giant crack in a sheet of ice. Once false step would send one or the other plunging into freezing water – perhaps both.

"You've got the most beautiful skin, Sarah," Kathy said wistfully as she dusted Sarah's nose with a soft-bristled brush coated liberally with oil-absorbing matte foundation. "No freckles or wrinkles, no scars, no oversized pores. I just can't believe you're thirty. You have the skin of a twenty year old without the zits."

Sarah chuckled softly while sitting absolutely still. "I know. My dad accuses me of not aging and wonders where I got those genes."

"Hm, well if you could bottle it," Kathy said, now applying shimmering eye shadow to her eyelids, "you would make a fortune." Next came an all-day lipstick and gloss with a touch of glitter, and then Sarah was shuffled out of make-up and onto the set.

Jareth was already waiting for her on the sidelines, his long blond hair wrangled into a fluffy queue set low on the back of his head and tied with a wide strip of black velvet. His costume was Louis the XVI for this scene, with a long burgundy frock coat trimmed with black velvet and sequins, black kickers and heeled shoes with large silver buckles. A froth of black lace was at his throat and he held a slender riding crop in his gloved hand, which he was switching against the side of his leg. Sarah was slightly put out that he got costumes spanning centuries of fashion while she had to wear the same low-necked, high-waisted style of gown for every scene except one. When he spotted her approaching, he grinned and ran his other hand down the shaft of the crop.

"Say hello to my little friend," Jareth said and flicked it smartly in her direction.

Sarah laughed and shook her head. "Jareth, no more late-night television for you. You're cut off."

He didn't look at all chastened; if anything, he seemed more pleased with himself that she had understood his reference. Smirking, he said, "I'm sure we could find better things to do on that couch of yours, wouldn't you agree?"

"You two have certainly gotten cozy," Phil commented as he stepped up behind Sarah.

"It feels as if I have know dear Sarah for years," Jareth said blithely as he drew closer to her in what appeared to Sarah as a possessive manner. It probably was, knowing Fae men. Phil inched away from her, seeming to unconsciously recognizing Jareth's non-verbal claim.

"Glad to see you getting along, then!" Phil smiled brightly at both of them, and for a change, did not leer down her dress. "We'll start with the castle nursery scene where the young princess is taken by the Goblin King. Take a moment to review your scripts while the crew prepares, and… ah, Draco! Make sure that the puppeteers know their cues." Barking orders at the camera crew, Phil strode away.

Sarah flinched and glanced around, spotting the man walking decisively toward them, clipboard in hand. His thin white tee shirt was stretched over solidly developed pectoral muscles, and his black hair was bound into a long tail that hung over one shoulder, hiding ears that were undoubtedly pointed. Golden eyes sized her up and then warmed as she met his gaze. Next to her, Jareth tensed and stood absolutely still.

"Sarah, my lovely, I've been worried about you!" Draco tucked the clipboard under one arm and captured both her hands in his, brushing kisses across the knuckles. "You haven't returned any of my calls or messages. I thought that you might have been hurt in the earthquake."

"Yes, well, my phone went missing," she said awkwardly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with Jareth still standing closer to her than was polite and stonily silent. "I'm fine, though. Um, Draco, I don't think you've met the male lead of this production—"

"Jareth," snapped the Goblin King before she could finish, his voice colder and more forbidding than she had ever heard it. She shot him a pointed glance that he summarily ignored. His mismatched eyes were fixed on the poor Production Assistant, though Draco seemed to be taking his hostility in stride.

Grinning to reveal sharp white teeth, Draco nodded in greeting. "Ah, yes. Your reputation precedes you."

"Jareth," Sarah said warningly and nudged him with her elbow. "Draco is a PA for this project."

Jareth turned his head to look at her, and she was taken aback at the anger seething in the depths of his eyes. "Am I to understand that this is that man that you have been seeing?"

"Yes," Draco answered for her, drawing Jareth's attention back to himself. She glared at Draco, but he was now locked in a staring match of epic proportions with the Goblin King. Sarah could almost see the angry arcs of energy snap and spark between the two pairs of inhuman eyeballs. "And you are her… _friend_, as _I_ understand it."

She could smell disaster brewing, and it smelled like the Bog.

"Guys…" she started, but neither one of them acknowledged her. _This_ was why she had sworn off Fae men.

"Then it is fortunate that I have this opportunity to correct your misconception," Jareth drawled menacingly. His voice was glacial, and the lines of his body were taut with tension. Only his fingertips moved, curling into grim parodies of claws. Draco was disdainfully nonchalant, his posture relaxed, but his golden eyes had chilled to bright amber.

'Oh, for crying out loud,' Sarah thought in exasperation. "Jareth—"

Draco interrupted her with a short, humorless laugh. "I doubt _that_ is the case. Or do you plan to disprove it with a presentation of your jewels?"

Squeaking in outrage, Sarah gasped, "Draco!"

Still, the men ignored her. 'Fine, let them drop their pants and piss on the walls for all I care.' Spinning on the ball of her foot, she stalked away, fuming. She imagined them both roasting on the spits of their own male egos as she pulled a bottle of water from the ice bucket at the end of the snack table. A quick glance behind her verified that the men were still posturing and had in all likelihood not even noticed her departure. She supposed that a verbal prick-waving contest was better than Fae pyrotechnics, but she did _not_ appreciate being ignored. She stoked the fires in her imagination, almost able to feel the rise in temperature herself.

Sarah didn't know how long the bout of grandstanding would have lasted if Phil had not shouted at them to clear off to make way for the grips. Heading for a gaggle of unorganized puppeteers, Draco shot her a reassuring smile that she didn't return. Jareth moved to approach her, and she glared so hard at him that even he was deterred. That, or he had run into the invisible barrier that she had placed between her and the two Fae men. She took sadistic delight in the fact that the snack table was on _her_ side of the wall.

"Is it me, or has it suddenly gotten warm in here?" a male voice asked to her right. Irritated by the perceived pick-up line, she turned to glare at him, only to find that he was actually speaking to a balding man with one of his hands shoved up the torso of a Goblin puppet.

The puppeteer nodded, swiping at the beads of sweat that had collected on his forehead with a paper napkin that had seen better days. "I think the air conditioning is on the fritz again. Stupid thing always breaks on the hottest days."

"Doesn't help that this stage is a glorified convection oven," the first man complained, shrugging out of a loud Hawaiian print shirt to reveal a graying wife-beater and a paunchy midsection. Both men shook their heads as they reached for chilled water bottles.

'It doesn't feel particularly warm to me,' Sarah mused as she snagged several peeled carrots and a handful of celery sticks. Crunching on the vegetables, Sarah scanned the room, spotting Jareth standing as close to the barrier as he possibly could, alternately shooting annoyed glances at the humans that could move through it and harried, almost frantic glances at her. She met his gaze impassively and deliberately took her time chewing through a carrot. She hoped that he understood the symbolism.

"Will someone fix the damn A/C?" Phil shouted from his director's chair. "You!" he pointed at one of the crew with his pen. "Call maintenance! I want this fixed before we start the shoot."

"They are already on their way," Draco called out from across the room where he was handing out vouchers to the few extras on set. Both of them were fanning themselves with their call sheets and looking wilted in their pseudo-medieval court gowns. Draco caught her eye, smirked, then set his clipboard on a low table. With a quick tug, he had removed his tee shirt, baring a pale expanse of chest sparsely dusted with fine black hair. The hair grew thicker just below a well-defined set of washboard abs, trailing down from his belly button to the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

It was proven, then: Draco _was_ a fine specimen of a man.

Tossing the tee shirt onto the table, he reclaimed his clipboard and strode toward the camera crew, affording Sarah a delectable view of a leanly muscled back and two dimples at the base of his spine.

Sarah had to stuff her eyeballs back into their sockets, figuratively speaking. She had even forgotten to scowl at him. A sharp crack finally distracted her, and she instinctively glanced toward the sound.

Jareth appeared to have snapped the riding crop against his lower leg, forgetting that he was not wearing his tall boots. He was now rubbing the tip of the crop soothingly against the side of his leg where undoubtedly a faint redness was hidden beneath the black tights that he wore under his knickers. His expression, however, was a glower so fierce that it would have sent veteran studio executives running for their wet bars, and it was fixed on Draco's bare back.

Sarah tensed, waiting for the explosion or thrown objects that were sure to follow such a glare. If he threw crystals at a Fae for simply spying on them, what would he do to a rival? It wasn't until Jareth moved that she realized she had been holding her breath, and she let it out in a heavy rush that drew her confused looks from the other people near the snack table.

With feline grace and tightly leashed menace, Jareth bent down and leaned his riding crop against the wall. 'All the better to throw things,' Sarah thought worriedly, and without her permission, her feet began to drag her toward the furious Fae, though to what end, she wasn't sure. She stopped in her tracks when he shrugged out of his frock coat and tossed it over the back of a nearby folding chair. His gloved fingers reached for the jabot at his neck, and Sarah knew that she must be doing a fine impression of a guppy, but couldn't bring herself to care.

'Is he _stripping_?' she wondered incredulously.

As if he had heard her, his eyes slid over to her and trapped her gaze, the anger in his face evolving into something hotter, darker, but no less intense. The brusque movements of his fingers became languid and sensuous, and with a careless flick, the black jabot joined the frock coat on the chair. Raising a gloved hand to his mouth, he delicately bit the tip of his middle finger and slid the leather from his skin in one slow glide. Sarah's skin began to heat with a flush that began below her belly button and spread outward as her thoughts narrowed their focus to Jareth's hands. She didn't notice when her barrier flickered and died.

The glove still dangling from his sharp teeth, he gently tugged the other glove free and stretched his fingers, the pale perfect flesh almost translucent as it shifted over delicate bones. Her eyes followed each glove as it was dropped onto the lace jabot, then riveted onto his fingers as they slipped each onyx button through the embroidered buttonholes of his burgundy brocade vest.

"You usually have to pay extra to see this," Kathy's voice spoke by her ear, and Sarah started guiltily. Her voice colored green with envy, she added, "He's looking right at you."

Sarah responded inarticulately, her voice lodged in her throat. Jareth was only down to the thin black shirt beneath the vest, and already she was calculating the time it would take to drag him to her star wagon and help him out of his knickers.

"I hope they don't get the A/C fixed anytime soon," Kathy said as she fanned herself with a stack of call sheets. The make-up artist was down to a camisole, and dark tendrils of hair were sticking to her forehead, but she wore a dreamy smile that Sarah completely understood. "Oh, and that's nice too," she purred as Draco strutted across the set to the tub of cold waters not far from where Sarah and Kathy stood.

Ignoring Jareth's sharp glare, he grabbed a bottle and snapped open the cap, tilting his head back and raising it to his lips in a classic male-model swimsuit calendar pose. Sarah's fingers itched to yank the elastic out of his long hair so that it would tumble down his back in a long black sheet. His golden eyes caught her staring, and he winked. Kathy squeaked at her elbow.

"He winked at you!" she hissed unnecessarily into Sarah's ear.

"I know!" she managed to whisper, though she was quite certain that both Fae could hear them. And oh, did Sarah know! That wink had liquefied her insides and threatened to cut the ligaments in her knees. 'I should go outside where it's cooler,' she thought distantly, not at all daunted by the triple-digits weather outside.

With his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, Jareth stalked to the tub, placing himself between Sarah and Draco. Withdrawing his own bottle, he turned to face her. "Sarah, might I have a word with you?"

She recognized the order for what it was and pulled together the presence of mind to frown at him. It might have had more effect had she been looking at his face and not his toned chest, but all things considered it was a good effort.

"Sarah!" he said again more forcefully and took a step closer. Her eyes snapped up, and Draco smirked at her over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. She frowned at him too, but Jareth stepped sideways and closer so that Draco was once again blocked from view. It also placed him closer to her than propriety allowed. Clasping her hands behind her back in case they decided to wander off on their own, she wondered belatedly what had happened to the barrier she had raised earlier. She didn't have a moment to raise a new one before Jareth had grasped her arm and began to guide her to the back of the sound stage where the extra lighting umbrellas were kept. Once they were out of sight of the rest of the cast and crew, he rounded on her, looming with the shadows though his eyes glinted with a light of their own.

"What do you want?" she grated out, lust rapidly giving way to her former irritation. Jerking her arm out of his grip, she crossed her arms under her breasts and narrowed her eyes. It was much easier not to ogle him when she was pissed.

He looked down his aquiline nose at her, his chin set haughtily, and propped his fists on his hips. "I forbid you to continue seeing that man."

"You… _forbid_ me," Sarah repeated slowly, carefully, making sure that she had got it right. If he had been anyone other than the Goblin King, than she would have doubted her hearing.

"He is Fae, Sarah, and a very dangerous one at that."

"I _know_ he's Fae, and he's a Production Assistant on this film," she pointed out, trying to keep her voice at a reasonable volume. "And just where do you get off _forbidding_ me to do anything?"

He must have sensed her mounting fury, for he quickly changed tactics. Abandoning his attempt at intimidation, he wrapped his fingers around her forearms and pulled her resisting body against his chest. To her surprise, his body was shivering slightly.

"Sarah, precious thing," he whispered as he tucked his nose behind her ear, nuzzling at her hair. "Trust me on this; he isn't who he seems."

"Jareth—"

"He was the raven spying on us the other night." His breath was hot against the skin of her neck, and a rash of goose bumps raced down her shoulders and arms.

"How do you know?" He pulled away just far enough to give her a sidelong incredulous glance.

So close, his face appeared alien, and she wondered how anyone could mistake him for human. His dark upswept brows started low on the bridge of his nose, almost at the inner corners of his eyes, and looked more like downy feathers than hairs, as did his thick eyelashes. The patches of white adjacent to his brows reached from the edges of his eyelids to the tips of his eyebrows and shimmered faintly in the dim light, but not as make-up would. Tiny errant feathery hairs were scattered against the field of white and were just as pale as the skin. The final broad strokes of black framing the triangles of white traced from the outer corners of his eyes, picking up where the lower lashes left off. They almost seemed tattooed, but no ink could be so black and alive. Even his uneven irises, one a deep blue and the other a rich caramel, were deeper, clearer, as if they had been carved out of gems instead of flesh.

'Not human,' she reminded herself, 'and neither is Draco. He's just trying to look out for me, but what does he know that he isn't saying?' Even with that in mind, she was still resentful of his high-handed treatment of her. "Yes, your 'knowledge and experience in these matters.' I remember."

"Then you'll stop seeing him."

"Jareth—"

"Is it so much to ask?" he whispered hoarsely, his hands kneading her forearms as he searched her eyes. She felt exposed under his forceful crystalline gaze, as if he were trying to peel away the layers of her soul. "I'll do anything you request of me; name it, and it is yours."

Sarah groaned and dropped her forehead against his chest. A less scrupulous individual would have taken advantage of that supplication. The Goblin King was a powerful being capable of reordering time and moving stars when it struck his fancy. Even Sarah was tempted, and she considered herself an upstanding member of society. Like his request of a few days ago, this one seemed so simple, yet felt more costly than it should. A tightly wound coil of foreboding had begun to hum with tension deep within the pit of her stomach. Something was going on, something out of her control, but could heavily influence the course of her life. She didn't like it one bit.

He was pressing his cheek against her temple, his long eyelashes tickling her hairline as his silky lips caressed the rise of her cheekbone. "Sarah…"

"Fine," she heard herself mumble against his bare skin, not even believing that she had said it until Jareth wound his arms around her and hugged her tightly. 'What happened to "just friends", Sarah?' she rebuked herself as Jareth trembled against her. 'Or "distance does not a relationship make"? What are you going to do when he gets bored and flies away, never to return? Or drives you to homicidal frustration? Or Draco challenges him to a _duel_ or something?' She was being melodramatic, she knew, but her sense of dread seemed to warrant it. Her intuition failed to point her in any one direction that could ameliorate her fears. Jareth had warned her that Draco was dangerous and "not what he seems", yet the same could be said of Jareth himself. How much of it was truth and how much was a lie born of jealousy and possessiveness? The only thing of which she was certain was that she liked standing in his embrace, with his bare hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, far more than was good for her. Oh, and he smelled _divine_.

"What would you request of me in return?" he asked against her hair.

Sarah blinked in surprise, wishing that she could see his face. She hadn't actually planned to ask for anything and certainly hadn't expected him to remind her! 'Draco owes me a concession as well,' she mused unhappily. It appeared to be time to cash it in. But what should she ask of Jareth? She had plenty of questions, but this kind of boon wasn't something to squander when he might simply answer them on his own. "Could we talk about this later? I'll have to think about it."

He pulled away again, his eyes wary and an inscrutable expression masking his emotions, but he nodded slowly.

* * *

"_I'm thinking that it is time to get an heir and prepare for retirement. I'll choose the mortal, and you will make it one of us."_

Draconus' word floated through Jareth's memory, and he cursed himself for falling so artlessly into the devious Fae's trap. Hadn't he _known_ that taking one of Draconus' bets was a Bad Idea? Hadn't he just lost one of his infamous bets, and in the process lost Sarah?

"_She is a charming young woman," Draconus croaked from his perch in the giant willow tree next to Jareth. They both watched the pretty human clothed in white, flowers in her hair, as she ran across the old stone bridge that spanned a shallow duck pond. A shaggy gray dog loped faithfully at her heels._

_Jareth ruffled his feathers in agreement. "She has the potential for magic. It will only take a nudge to plant it within her."_

"_Do you think she will thank you for it? Humans are known for their fragile, fickle hearts."_

"_She will accept it – and me – with open arms," he hooted confidently. What girl _wouldn't_ want him? Draconus was a silly bird._

"_Really?" Draconus cawed dubiously, only confirming Jareth's opinion of him. "And what if you held something that she valued. Her baby brother, say? Would she choose you over him?"_

"_Naturally." Jareth didn't have any doubts; he had watched this girl far longer than Draconus had, spotting her on one of his flights back to Labyrinth and recognizing her potential. At once fascinated, he had made many trips since, learning of her frustration with her home life and her love of romantic fantasies. He was flattered by her obsession with one such story that had been written about his own kingdom. It would help her transition that she already held the fictitious Goblin King in high regard. Fruit ripe for the plucking she was, and he had wanted a female companion for a long time._

_Draconus shifted his sleek black wings and sidled closer on the branch. "Let's have a bit of sport, then. She will wish away her brother, and you will offer her a choice: you… or her brother. You will have thirteen hours to convince her to accept you. If you win, then I will give you her weight in jewels as a wedding gift. If you lose, then you will send one hundred of your strongest Goblins to the Mountain for a month. I have just found a vein of mithril that needs to be mined."_

_Jareth turned round yellow eyes on the raven, cocking his feathered head and peering at him in consternation. Draco's jewels were highly prized in the Underground, and Sarah's weight in them was generous indeed. He didn't understand why Draconus, one of the wiliest denizens of the Underground and infamous for his unwinnable bets, would make such a ridiculous wager. Even if she rejected the offer Jareth would make when she wished away her brother, and it was unlikely that she would for she despised the baby, Draconus must know that Sarah would be required to traverse Labyrinth to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, a feat that few managed. Jareth would have ample opportunity to convince (or coerce) Sarah to concede and take her place by his side. _

"_Be prepared to lose," Jareth told him with a smug hoot._

"_You accept then? Excellent. But you may not tell her exactly what it is that you are offering her."_

_Jareth squawked in indignation. He had forgotten about the catch that Draconus always tacked onto his bets. No matter, he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Launching from the willow branch, he glided through the late afternoon sunshine to alight on the peak of a stone obelisk and watch his companion-to-be recite lines from _Labyrinth_._

Jareth had been so sure of his victory. Her first denial had not worried him that much. He had even been a bit proud, if not annoyed, that she had chosen to try to win her brother back. It showed that she was brave, loyal, and had strong moral fiber. That was important for a Queen. Few reached his Castle, though. Most found their way into the gate, but many were thwarted by the long, seemingly straight passage that ringed Labyrinth. Those that discovered the hidden openings that led inward often ended up in one of the many oubliettes that riddled the bowels of Labyrinth.

Jareth had grossly underestimated her. She had unraveled the mysteries and riddles of Labyrinth in an unusually short amount of time. Granted, she had had help, and he'd kicked a Goblin when he'd remembered that Hogsbreath had once been one of Draconus' Dwarves. The hours he had taken from her had been as much a precaution for him as it had been a response to her boasting. If she had failed to reach the Castle within the ten hours, he would have had three hours to convince a distraught Sarah that not all was lost, if only she would choose him.

Against the odds, she had persevered. Not only had she chosen her baby brother each time he had offered her a choice, she had resisted his attempts to distract her away from her goal. She had reached the Castle and left with her brother, and he had spent his remaining three hours watching her cavort with his subjects and getting stinking drunk with Draconus in the otherwise empty throne room. Perhaps not the best use of his time, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to crash the party, not after her final humiliating rejection. Besides, there would be a next time. Draconus had just laughed at him when he'd slurred that statement.

'But I will have the last laugh,' Jareth thought with a wicked grin as he watched Sarah walk up to the dark Fae, resignation dragging on her posture and slowing her steps. Finally reaching him, she touched his arm and spoke quietly. Draconus must have muffled her voice, for though he could hear her, he could not understand what she was saying. Draconus wrapped his arms around her, and Jareth jerked in anger, his hands itching to rip the offending limbs from the other Fae's body. Sarah would be furious, and it was the image of her horrified expression and refusal to ever see him again that kept his feet rooted in place. The embrace was brief, and with a quick glance in his direction, Sarah had walked quickly toward the doors that led out of the sound stage. Two pairs of Fae eyes followed her as she disappeared through them.

"You think you have won," Draconus muttered under his breath far too quietly for human ears to discern, though Jareth could hear him clearly across the room. "You haven't. If I'm not mistaken, you still have all three jewels and only five days left to lose them. The odds are not in your favor."

Jareth glided over to the chair that held the bits of costume that he had discarded in his attempt to attract Sarah's attention and alleviate his discomfort in his multi-layered suit. The sudden stifling warmth had been Sarah's doing, though he doubted she realized it. He wondered what had prompted her to do that. "She rejected you for me. Because I _asked_ her to," he said in the same quite tone that Draconus had used. Sifting through the garments, he realized that one of his gloves had disappeared. How odd.

Feigning to take notes on the documents attached to his clipboard, Draconus smiled wryly. "She thinks you are leaving and intends to continue our 'relationship' where we left it once you are gone. As do I."

Ice shot through his veins at those three simple words, and Jareth shivered despite the oppressive heat of the sound stage. Draconus had meant all along to take Sarah as his bride and father heirs on her. It was a fairly common practice among the Fae to steal mortals for that very purpose; males and females alike craved the vitality and freshness of the human race. On many occasions, Draconus and Jareth had worked together to capture and convert a mortal for one of their compatriots. Many of these mortals did not thrive in the Underground, siring or bearing their Fae spouses' children and then dying after a mere couple of hundred years. Most Fae considered the time they had with their mortals well worth the heartache and grief when they passed. A precious few flourished in the magic of the Underground, absorbing it until their mortality faded away. Sarah would be one of the latter, he was certain of it, and this made her that much more of a prize to a Fae looking for a companion.

Well, Draconus could find his own damn mortal.

"You are fooling yourself. Not a difficult feat, that," Jareth growled lowly. The humans around him simply thought that he was clearing his throat.

"We shall see." Draconus' smile only grew wider.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long delay - my beta, leanansidhe1228, has been super busy. I want to thank her for editing this chapter on top of everything else she has to do! I also want to thank my readers and reviewers... I like to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.

Let's see… the shirtless-off between Jareth and Draco was a request from my sister, for whom this fic is being written. If you don't like stripping Fae, then blame her. The title of this chapter comes from the lyrics of a song called "Bad Touch" by the Bloodhound Gang. I think I've just dated myself. Can any of you guess from which movie Jareth's quote about the "little friend" comes? It should be pretty easy… think late night basic cable…


	9. Sensitive New Age Guys

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I do not make any money off it.

* * *

Chapter 9 – Sensitive New Age Guys

Sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the women's locker room, Sarah mopped at her face with a towel and eyed the closed door of the sauna with the longing of a woman who had had a very rough day. She'd hoped that forty-five minutes on the treadmill followed by a short yoga stretching class would help work out some of the stress that had collected behind her temples and settled in her joints. With her iPod blaring directly into her ear canals or her mind focused on breathing oxygen into stiff muscles, she was able to find a bit of peace. The moment that her mind was left free to wander, it began to tumble over the events of day, picking over conversations and over-analyzing hidden meanings behind words until none of it made any sense. If she entered that sauna, then she would sit in it and stew, literally and figuratively.

She wanted to beat her head against the wall.

The confrontation between the two men that morning had been… unnerving. Jareth had been _too_ desperate for her to stop seeing Draco. He had known before that she was seeing someone; why did him being Fae make such a difference? She wasn't sure how much salt she should take with Jareth's warnings that Draco was dangerous. After all, Jareth was no one with whom one should trifle.

On the other hand, Draco had accepted the hiatus on their budding relationship with more grace than she had ever seen a Fae take that kind of news. He had simply wrapped her in his arms, kissed her hair, and told her that he'd see her in a week. Draco really was grounded and steadfast for his kind.

It hadn't occurred to her until later to ask why she wouldn't be seeing him tomorrow on the set. When she had mentioned it to Kathy, the make-up artist had told her that he was needed in the office – the Office PA had been injured in the earthquake and was laid up for the next two weeks, doctor's orders. Draco would work the office until a replacement could be found.

Sarah had at once been relieved and disappointed. She hoped that her discomfort came from the unresolved state of her love life: the might-be-but-shouldn't thing that seemed to be evolving between her and Jareth and the more practical, level-headed romance that Draco offered. It seemed clear, when she thought about it in those terms, which path she should take, but something inside her writhed unhappily in doubt.

'Both paths seem to lead to… _dun dun dun_… certain death,' she mused wryly, remembering a melodramatic pair of doors. It was a conundrum, and she didn't like to leave those unsolved. She almost wished that she could drop the whole mess into an oubliette and move on.

She would _not_ consider the implications behind the black leather glove that she had purloined from Jareth's pile of clothes and stashed down her bodice on her way to talk to Draco.

Sighing heavily, she gave the temptation of the sauna a black look and headed for the showers. It probably wasn't a good idea to leave Jareth and his minions alone in her apartment for too long.

Within twenty minutes, she had cleaned up and thrown on a comfortable jogging suit and flip-flops. With the stereo cranked to a deafening volume and her own voice rising to match it, if not quite in key, she managed to not think about Jareth for most of the drive home until she spotted the owl gliding above the trees ahead of her.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she grumbled, staring up at the owl so hard that she blew through a dying yellow light, earning a honk from a hapless motorist trying to turn left. Irritation aside, she felt a fluttering of flattery that he would watch out for her. "And you called _Draco_ a spy."

Pulling up to the curb near her apartment building, she watched the white barn owl soar to her living room window and squirm through the hole in the screen. Ire flared again that he would disregard her request to repair it.

"It's not like I ask for much." She jerked her gym bag out of the passenger's seat and slammed the car door shut, huffing as she stomped up the sidewalk that led to the stairs to the second floor apartments. An old magnolia tree grew next to the stairwell, its gnarled roots lifting and cracking the cement walkway. She had chosen this apartment for that tree, instantly falling in love with its dark twisted branches stretching so close to her balcony that she simply had to reach out to pluck one of the white blossoms. Tonight, the warm air was redolent with their cloying citrus scent, and she inhaled deeply, letting the comforting fragrance soothe her frayed nerves.

She let herself into her apartment quietly, her eyes instantly spotting Jareth's telltale mop of pale hair lit blue like so many optical fibers by the glow of the television. For an intense moment, she wanted to run her hands through the strands to test their softness. Shaking her head, she dropped her bags by the door and swept into the living room, placing herself between the Fae and the television.

"Didn't I ask you to fix the hole in the screen?" she asked imperiously, pointing at the offending window.

Jareth raised an arched eyebrow. "I wouldn't say that you _asked_, precious. Must I remind you that I _am_ a king."

"King!" a Goblin voice shouted from the shadows in the kitchen. Jareth waved a graceful hand, accepting the accolade.

Propping her fists on her hips, Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but the king cut her off. "Sarah," he purred, patting the couch cushion next to him, "do have a seat. I have something for you."

Intrigued despite her better judgment, Sarah circled the coffee table and sank into the couch, eyeing him cautiously. He was still dressed in his conjured human clothes: dark blue distressed denim and an ornately designed graphic button down with a new pair of gloves in dove gray leather covering his hands. "Oh?" she asked, trying to feign only mild interest. It wouldn't do to encourage him. "What is it?"

"A gift." Holding his hand aloft, he pinched his fingers together, gathering magic to his fingertips and shaping it into a crystal sphere as delicate as a bubble. "Do you want it?" he asked with a slow sly grin that revealed the sharp points of his teeth. Distorted by the curvature of the crystal, something colorful twirled at its center, and she could hear the faint chiming of bells. "Go on, take it."

She stared at it for a minute, pondering the wisdom of doing just that. His other gifts had been meant to distract her from her purpose, but she had always _wanted_ to accept them. Undoubtedly, he was driven by motivations of his own, but she could sense no trickery… at least, no more than usual. Glancing at his face, she was startled by the earnestness in his eyes, carefully hidden beneath a mask of playful indifference. Instead of answering him as she had done fifteen years prior, she smiled at him, a mysterious twist of the lips that only a woman could produce. Reaching out, she covered the crystal with her hand, lifting it off his fingers.

The smooth polished crystal warmed her skin and curious, she turned her hand over and raised it to her face, staring into its hazy depths. The twirling colors spun giddily, swelling against the walls of the orb as the tinkling of bells coalesced into a familiar melody. Almost seeming to bulge with music and color, the crystal suddenly popped in a burst of glitter, and in her hand lay her music box dancer.

The song was the same sweet melody that it had always played, the song that Jareth had crooned to her as he had danced her through a crowd of masqueraders, but instead of the familiar _plink_ of metal tines, this music box chimed as if it were made of fine shards of resonating crystal. The dancer was different as well. No longer dressed in an innocent frivolity of silver tulle, she spun in a flowing gown of shimmering gold, her face concealed by a feathered half-mask of an owl… and she had a partner. Clothed in a billowy shirt of gold and tight white pants, he held her close, his feathered cape seeming to loosely envelope them in white wings. His mask matched hers, and their eyes were locked onto each other.

"Oh, Jareth," she breathed as the music slowed and the dancers stilled. "It's so beautiful." There was no mistaking the sentiment; the details of their painted faces were exquisite, and even if she had not recognized her own fall of dark hair and the stubborn point of her chin, the tiny up-swept eyebrows just visible beneath the male's mask were unmistakable. Her heart swelled and tightened at the thought that had gone into his gift, and she set it reverently on the coffee table, meeting his gaze. He was watching her closely, the playfulness gone and the sincerity written plainly in the sensuous lines of his lips. She was so incredibly fond of him in that moment that she couldn't resist.

"Thank you," she said and leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

* * *

Jareth had heard the phrase "to be on cloud nine" years ago and had thought it a ridiculous expression. Why nine? Why not sixty-nine? That would have made more sense. Now he understood what it was to be on cloud nine: the dreamy euphoric feeling that he was floating far above the world, blissfully carefree and immune to hardships and heartache.

One of Draconus' jewels had vanished.

Granted, Jareth had expected her first heartfelt kiss to be accompanied by fireworks, trembles in the earth, or at the very least, a bit of tongue, but he wasn't about to complain. Tongue or no tongue, it had been one of the sweetest kisses he had ever received, and if anything could have made it more perfect, it would have been to recover from his surprise in time to kiss her back. Unfortunately, it had been over too quickly for him to take proper action, and then she had bounded off the couch, music box dancer in hand, and had told him that she would make him a special dinner in thanks. He'd simply watched her skip into her bedroom, a silly smile stretching his tingling lips.

He hadn't even noticed that the jewel had disappeared until he had undressed for bed.

He had spent the rest of the night in a sleepless daze, his mind flitting through endless bright and dazzling futures filled with light, laughter, and love—

"What has you all twitterpated on a Tuesday?" Kathy, the make-up artist, asked him as she applied a dusting of shimmering powder to his cheeks. Leaning back, she sighed and gave him a consternated frown. "Just what _are_ those?" she asked, eyeing his facial markings.

Jareth raised one of his impressive eyebrows and said, "They are _mine_." He had to admit that the women knew her way around a make-up case, but her obsession with his markings was irritating, as had been the astringent with which she had tried to remove them on his first day in the mortal realm. It had _stung_!

"They don't look like tattoos," she mused. "And anyway, your eyebrows grow along the edge as if they had always done so." Her passably pretty face crinkled as she paused.

"They have," Jareth reminded her. It seemed that they had had this conversation several times already.

"Jareth, are you ready— Oh!" Sarah exclaimed as she peered around the doorjamb of the make-up room. Jareth grinned; he had yet to put on his shirt. After yesterday's fiasco with Draconus, he had decided that he would be shirtless as often as he could in Sarah's presence. If that meant wandering the sound stage half-dressed, then so be it. Besides, he rather liked this new costume: fitted royal blue leather breeches, ruffled white shirt and matching blue waistcoat and jacket in silk velvet. The breeches, boots and gloves he had donned, but the rest of it was draped over a chair on the set. Sarah had told him that he could keep his costumes, and this was one of the few that he would actually take Underground.

Sarah's costume, however, would be staying in the mortal realm. The pale blue satin had been chosen as a compliment to his own costume, he assumed, for it was just a shade wrong for her pale, moonlit complexion. The cut of the bodice displayed her breasts sumptuously and nipped her waist to accentuate the flare of the full skirt, but the effect was of an ice queen touched by frost as opposed to a passionate and vivacious Goblin Queen. Such a pity.

The dress was no great loss; he had the finest of Underground tailors at his disposal, and he had taken the liberty of sending several of her pairs of jeans to the wardrobe he had set up for her. Jeans were, as Phil would say, awesome. Doubtless, the women of the Fae courts would adopt them in no time.

"He's ready," Kathy assured her, shooting Sarah a significant glance, then flicking her eyes toward him. Sarah's cheeks began to glow a soft pink, but she rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was Kathy's turn to raise an eyebrow, and Sarah blushed harder as she stomped up to the make-up chair.

Jareth was on his feet before she reached him and extended a courtly arm with a small flourish. Sarah's flush began to creep charmingly down her neck to brighten her bosom, and Kathy chuckled wickedly. "Sarah, dear, now you must tell me if it's stuffed."

"Kathy!" she snapped, her green eyes wide, outraged and mortified, prompting the other woman into an outright cackle. "It's not like that!"

"I bet you already know!" Kathy managed to say as she snickered into her hand. Jareth hadn't a clue as to what they were discussing, but he was positive that it centered on himself. As was proper.

Grinning, Jareth led his blushing lady from the make-up room, his heeled boots barely touching the floor. 'Cloud nine,' Jareth thought happily. When he returned home, he would look up the address and take Sarah there as a surprise vacation. Wouldn't she be pleased?

"I can't believe that woman!" Sarah fumed at his side, her furious steps jerky and forceful. "And you can wipe that grin off your face."

"I think not," Jareth said, smiling smugly and patting the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. "Unless you do something for me."

She eyed him warily. "Like what?"

"Tell me: what's stuffed?"

She choked and tripped over the hem of her ball gown. Throwing his head back, Jareth laughed, then swept her into a waltz. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he danced her onto the set and across the ballroom that had been constructed at the back of the sound stage, startling a hapless grip and driving their stand-ins off their marks. Phil cursed them, but Jareth just spun Sarah in a graceful pirouette before bending her over his arm and kissing her soundly. He wouldn't lose a jewel for this kiss, but her lips were warm and soft, and he could hear her heart fluttering under her ribcage.

'"It's not like that," indeed,' he thought with amused indignation. It was very much "like that."

When he had righted her, her eyes were dancing with delight and surprise. "Jareth!" she gasped, her shapely bosom rising and falling above the tight lacing of her dress. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," he said airily in singsong voice. "Nothing, nothing!" He knew that he must look like a fool, but the glorious thing about euphoria was that he didn't care in the least.

"Tra la la," she responded sarcastically, but her face was still glowing with excitement. "Do you dance like that with your Goblins?"

"Only with you, precious thing," he purred, grasping her around her slim waist and pulling her close. Her arm wrapped around his back and she clung to him in a most delicious manner. He would have to keep her off balance more often. "Besides, how many female Goblins have you seen?"

"Well, there was… the old junk lady!" She grinned up at him in triumph.

"How can you be sure that she's a she?" he asked archly, trying to remember of which Goblin she spoke. "Did you check under its tail?"

"Jareth!" she gasped, horrified and blushing, as she stiffened in his arms. He spun her suddenly, relishing her small squeak of surprise. "Of course not! How could you even suggest—"

"I'm just saying that it's remarkably difficult to tell the difference." He hummed a few bars of their song and twirled her in a slow tight circle, imagining the gold satin of the music box dancer's dress swirling about their legs.

She frowned at him as they turned. "Isn't that a bit irresponsible as their liege lord?"

Precious Sarah, always concerned for others.

"I make more of them, don't I?" he asked rhetorically. She winced, and he was almost sorry that he had reminded her of her wish so many years ago. He decided to kiss her again to make up for it and spun her out to the end of his arm, giving her a rakish, enticing grin as she paused at the zenith of the step, and then spun her back into his embrace, bending her over his arm so that she was completely at his mercy. Leaning in, he brushed his lips lightly against hers, so gently that he might have been kissing a butterfly's wings. He repeated the motion a second and third time, the satin of her dress cool and smooth against his bare chest and her quick puffs of breath hot against his mouth.

"Jareth, we're on set—" she began to protest breathily, her straight white teeth flashing behind lips moist and pink with exertion. He silenced her with firm kiss, deepening it quickly to forestall any more complaints. Meeting her tongue halfway, he answered her tiny moan with a deep groan as he clutched her slim body tightly to him.

A throat clearing itself loudly and perfunctorily jarred him from the red fog that had begun to creep into his brain, and he righted Sarah to glare at the owner of said throat. Phil and a man he did not recognize were staring at them, Phil's lips pursed with envy and the other man's face bearing a thoughtful expression.

"Well," the man drawled, shifting his weight to one leg and crossing his arms over his heavily muscled chest. "They certainly have chemistry, I'll give them that. The steps, though… trite and anachronistic. I thought that this was a children's film?"

"It is," said Phil as if he'd just been sucking lemons.

The other man shrugged gracefully and glided onto the set, his movements as easy and graceful as a jungle cat's. He was clad in a thin white tee shirt and stretchy black cotton pants that artfully hugged his sculpted physique. His head was shaven, and his dark skin gleamed a rich chocolate in the sound stage lighting. "Hm. I don't remember seeing kissing like _that_ in the films I watched as a kid. But if you can dance as well as you kiss…" He raised a black eyebrow and grinned whitely at Sarah, winking, then raked Jareth with a critical eye. "Put some clothes on, Romeo. Let's keep this PG."

* * *

"Hoggle, I need you," Sarah said as she gazed solemnly at her reflection in her vanity mirror. The music box in front of it was winding down, the golden dancers twirling slowly to a stop and the crystalline tinkling dying into silence. She had wound it up five times that morning, trying to drive away the oppressive stillness that seemed to have settled on her apartment since Jareth had departed the prior evening for a summons.

She had been surprised by her laissez-fair attitude that he had whisked away to "steal" a child. When he had announced his need to leave as she had been pawing through the fridge for something for an early dinner, her first thought had been disappointment that he had to go. It wasn't until after he had left that what he had gone to do actually struck her.

"Well, the idiot _did_ ask for it," she had groused in reference to the anonymous wisher as she stared at her boxed macaroni and cheese that was congealing into a room-temperature bowl of wheat gluten and orange glue. The Goblins hadn't even been around to agree with her; they had been summoned along with their king. If anything, she resented the fool for interrupting what would have been a pleasant Tuesday evening. They had left the studio after an early wrap, Jareth taking to the choreography like a professional and collaborating with the choreographer to create a dance scene that had been quite spectacular.

Tapping her nails against the vanity's top, Sarah frowned pensively as the mirror's glass darkened, a dense fog seeming to swirl deep within it. She really should call work and tell them that Jareth was sick – she _should_ have left for the studio ten minutes ago. But _Jareth_ was late, thirteen hours having already expired. Hadn't she reached the Castle in ten and was sent home on the stroke of midnight? Above, only five or so hours had passed. She had expected him to wriggle his way through the hole in her screen last night as she watched late-night television. Instead, she had dozed off on the couch, sleeping fitfully and startling awake at the slightest noise only to glance at the window. At two in the morning, she had finally stomped off to bed, irate in her disappointment, and scowled at the crack in the ceiling for an hour before falling asleep again, her bedroom door propped open.

She hated how much she missed Jareth's presence. It was as if he were some sort of potent black-market drug and she were suffering withdrawals. 'This can't be healthy,' she thought, mentally castigating herself even as she called on Hoggle to get an update on his sovereign. 'I'm acting like a silly punch-drunk teenager.'

The fog behind the glass of the mirror rippled, then cleared to display a lumpy face with two protruding blue eyes and eyebrows resembling gray caterpillars. Behind him, her tidy bedroom was reflected as if he were standing at her shoulder.

"Sarah!" he said, his homely face arranging itself awkwardly into a smile that could frighten timid children. "Where've ya been?"

"Sorry, Hoggle," Sarah said, at once feeling guilty for not contacting him sooner. Traditionally, she called him every couple of weeks just to say hello, but Jareth had understandably distracted her. Well… she wondered if Hoggle really would understand. The Goblin King was not a typical topic of conversation; occasionally, Hoggle would complain about him, but they never dwelled on him. The Dwarf was still afraid of him, and Sarah had the distinct impression that he didn't care much for the Goblin King. "I had an unexpected visitor stop by last week and, well, you know…"

"Ah." He nodded sagely. "Been havin' fun, then, showin' 'er about?"

"Him, actually," Sarah prevaricated, wondering how to broach the subject. _'Say, Hoggle, have you seen Jareth about? Tell him to call me, or whatever,'_ was probably not the best way to go about it.

"Got a new beau, then?" Hoggle asked with a broad wink. He always liked to hear about her love life and took great delight in slandering the poor sod's name when she broke up with him.

Sarah laughed nervously. Should she tell him? What _would_ she tell him? _'You might say that, if by beau you mean kissing the daylights out of him while trying to decide if I want to date him. Oh, and by the way, he's that king who can never get your name right! Remember, the one who tried to dump us into the Bog of Eternal Stench?'_ This was going to be a disaster, but she would rather he find out from her than through the Labyrinth rumor mill.

"I've got two lined up!" Sarah laughed again, not meeting his guileless blue eyes. "Two, um, Fae, actually."

"Well, at least Fae won't puke in yer shoes," Hoggle said chuckling as he referred to the werecat she had dated for a number of months.

Sarah tried to chuckle with him, but it came out squeaky and slightly hysterical. He shot her a confused look, so she bit it back. Curse that Fae for not giving her a method to contact him. Why did she need to talk to him so badly, anyway? It was _his_ maze; it held no dangers for _him_. Or did it? For the first time, Sarah wondered. "So, Hoggle, what's new in Labyrinth? Anyone try to reach the Castle lately?"

Hoggle nodded and rolled his eyes. "One just came by 'ere, tripping over cracks in the stones and sniveling into 'is sleeve. Rude little bugger, that one."

"Really? Just now?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "How is he doing?"

Hoggle shrugged, a jerky, artless movement that accentuated his oddly shaped lumpy body. "Hard to say, yet. Lad just started."

'That can't be right,' Sarah thought in worried bemusement. 'Winner or loser, he should have finished already.'

"So, um," Sarah said, relying on her acting experience to force nonchalance into her tone, "did the Goblin King throw him any curve balls yet?"

"That rat ain't hardly paid 'im any attention, not like 'e did _you_…" Hoggle trailed off and then blinked at her in silence, his mouth slightly agape. "What're ya askin' about _him_ for?"

"Well…" For a moment, Sarah considered inventing an excuse, but she didn't want to lie to Hoggle. Straightening her spine, she drew on her significant reserves of courage and smiled brightly. This was _Hoggle_, for heaven's sake. He was her _friend_, a true friend, and he wouldn't abandon her over something as trivial as dating his monarch. "He's my houseguest."

Hoggle pursed his lips and gave her a hard stare, and for one terrifying moment, Sarah thought that he might actually cut their connection in sheer pique. When he finally broke the uncomfortable silence, it was with a stern warning. "Ya'd best steer clear of 'im, Sarah. He's always _been_ a rat, and 'e always will be. Can't be trusted, and _especially_ not around _you_."

"Me? What about me?"

"Y'ain't nothin' but a prize to 'im." Hoggle jabbed a finger at her, his bulbous nose glowing bright red in outrage.

"What are you talking about, Hoggle? _Prize_?" She enunciated the word carefully in her confusion. "Hoggle—" she started, but the Dwarf suddenly glanced behind him, his whole body jerking as if in fear of something. He vanished from the glass without another word, leaving Sarah to call futilely after him.

"Hoggle? _Hoggle_?" she shouted at the glass, beating lightly on it with her fist just in case it might help. As if to mock her, it resolutely reflected her bedroom, empty except for her. "Hoggle? Shit!"

Springing out of the chair, she paced in front of the vanity, turning her head as she moved to keep her gaze fixed on the silvered glass. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. Hoggle had seemed _frightened_. Not a difficult feat in and of itself; Jareth must have caught the Dwarf bad-mouthing him and put a stop to it.

'You'd better not do anything too nasty to him,' she silently threatened the absent man. What had Hoggle been about to say, though? Prize? And hadn't the Goblins mentioned a game? Sarah shook her head, running a frustrated hand through her hair as she chewed on her bottom lip. The Goblin King had some explaining to do.

So why was he still in Labyrinth with a wisher who had just started the maze? Had he lied to her to return Underground, then had a summons coincidentally timed after his fib? Sarah shook her head, stopping her pacing to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't believe that he wanted to leave; he had seemed sincerely reluctant and irritated when he had left last night. It didn't make any sense. Releasing her frustration and worry in an inarticulate shriek, she aimed a kick at her chair, sending it toppling over with an unsatisfying clatter.

"Fine!" she shouted at her vanity mirror, throwing her hands in the air. She was getting nothing solved at the moment, and she was running quite late. Phil would shout at her for it and pitch a fit when she told him Jareth was ill. "I have to go to work," she snarled at her reflection.

Her mind whirling with questions and doubts and her chest aching with fear that some of those doubts might be valid, she stalked out of her bedroom. A moment later, her apartment was empty, the windows rattling with the force of the front door slamming shut.

* * *

A/N: Big thanks to my betas leannansidhe1228 and thoughtfulillusion, and of course to my readers and reviewers!

This chapter was named after the Christine Lavin song by the same name.


	10. Born of Frustration

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth, and I do not make money off it.

* * *

Chapter 10 – Born of Frustration

Wednesday passed by in a hazy unhappy blur. She had expected the time to pass _slowly_ and miserably, but though she was constantly worried, the hours flew by at an unprecedented rate. Much to her embarrassment, she couldn't suppress the urge to glance over her shoulder, expecting to see the Goblin King striding toward her and feeling disappointed that he wasn't. On the set, Kathy had noticed her distraction and questioned her about it, and Sarah played it off as simply being worried about her Jareth's counterfeit illness.

"_Maybe you should just go home and take care of him," Kathy said with a fair amount of exasperation, catching Sarah eyeing the soundstage doors and chewing off her lipstick._

_Sarah laughed hollowly. "Right, because Phil the humanitarian was _so_ understanding about his food poisoning."_

_Shrugging, Kathy pulled a tube of lipstick and an application brush out of her apron. She checked it for the correct color, then popped off the top. "Open your lips. Phil is all bark and no bite… Well, on set, anyway." She smirked at Sarah, who sent her a look that said 'Too Much Information!'_

"_Jareth will be fine; he was sleeping when I left," Sarah lied when Kathy had finished reapplying her lipstick. The desire to go home and check to see if he had returned was strong, but she dreaded finding the apartment empty._

Without noticing the time pass, Sarah suddenly found herself on set with Phil directing the camera crew to start filming a short scene between her and two puppets. It seemed just a moment ago that Kathy had been fixing her lipstick as Phil and the Assistant Director had scrambled frantically to reorganize the schedule to include scenes that did not feature Jareth's character. When she thought back, she remembered rehearsing the scene, but she still felt a bit disoriented, as if she didn't quite exist on the same plane as everything around her.

The actual shoot took too many attempts for Phil's patience.

"_Sarah!" he shouted, throwing the script to the floor and marching toward her. "You are a _frightened princess_ running through a _terrifying maze_!" He hunched his back and fluttered his eyelashes mockingly at her. "Cower already! It's a monster!"_

"_He's not a monster," she snapped, "he just looks scary! He's really just misunderstood..." She trailed off as she looked again at the giant purple puppet that was sheepishly holding an uprooted tree made entirely of foam. For a moment, she had thought that he had been tied upside down to one of the tree's branches, and she could have sworn that he had had an orange shaggy coat. _

_Phil eyed her incredulously. "You have got to be fucking kidding me. We just rehearsed this scene minutes ago, and you screamed and cowered…"_

"_Right, because he's a monster…" Sarah mumbled and scratched at the back of her neck. The puppet seemed to be trying to hide the tree behind his back. _

"_Let's do it again," Phil growled, "and Justin, if she doesn't scream properly, whack her with the tree."_

Sarah had screamed, saving herself from abuse by foam fauna.

She did, in fact, return that night to an empty apartment. The silence had been oppressive, somehow amplifying the quiet hum of the refrigerator to an obnoxious buzz and the ticking of the clock above the dinette table to a steady racket. Within ten minutes, she had left again, heading for the gym in an attempt to restore some sort of normalcy to her day.

She woke up Thursday wondering when she had left the gym on Wednesday evening. Nonetheless, her gym bag sat by the front door still holding her dirty clothes and towel, and a plate sat unwashed in the kitchen sink.

'Ah yes,' she thought. 'Salad, rice and skinless chicken breast.' She remembered her lonely dinner as if someone else had eaten it: disconnected and dislocated. Her next thought was, 'Where is Jareth?'

After a hurried breakfast, Sarah attempted to contact Hoggle again, but he wasn't answering her summons. It did happen on occasion, but his abrupt departure from their last conversation had left her with an uneasy feeling. She didn't truly believe that Jareth would have hurt him, and for all she knew, he had been pulled away by a swarm of vengeful fairies. It had happened before. Yet she felt that something was wrong in the very marrow of her bones, and it wasn't just Hoggle and Jareth's disappearances. She just couldn't seem to sit still long enough to puzzle it out. It was like trying to catch smoke: one could see it to wrap it in eager fingers, but when one opened one's hands, there was nothing left but a stale smell.

It didn't occur to her to call Draco.

If possible, Thursday passed even more quickly than Tuesday. She could hardly keep track of conversations, answering a question only to learn from an irritated co-worker that she had already answered that question minutes – sometimes hours – ago. These strange bouts of lucidity were padded with murky stretches of time that Sarah remembered only vaguely, though it seemed that during those periods her behavior seemed normal to the people around her. She wondered if she had somehow stepped into the _Twilight Zone_ and wished that Rod Serling would hurry up and inform her before she went certifiably crazy.

Frustrated by her inattention, Phil had finally sent her home early with an admonition to "sober up and get some rest."

'_And if Jareth gave you whatever he has, then sucker-punch him in the gut for me,'_ Phil had instructed her with his characteristic concern for others' well-being.

And so Sarah had slept both nights with her door propped open, trying to drown out the silence and her disquieted thoughts with the din of the television. Countless times, she had wound her music box dancer, but only disjointed memories of listening to its crystalline chiming had lingered in her mind.

* * *

Jareth soared up to Sarah's second-story living room window and then eased his feathered body through the tear in the screen. Her apartment was dark except for the pallid light of the television, and the couch was empty. That was not surprising, as it was very late, but he had hoped that she might have waited up. It could only be minutes after midnight or one in the morning at the most. He liked the dramatic effect of forcing a supplicant to traverse his maze for thirteen hours, then to return home on the stroke of midnight. They always had such comically surprised expressions. He hadn't actually waited around to see this boy's reaction – he had deposited the child in his bedroom, removed all traces of his twin sisters, straightened out a sordid love triangle between two Goblins and a string of sausages (the sausages were fed to a beast and the Goblins were left to drown their sorrows in ale), and flew straight to Sarah's apartment.

With a surge of magic and determination that had long become instinct, he shed his avian form, his eyes seeking the blue-glowing clock that flashed in the kitchen. Jareth frowned and blinked. It could not actually be telling the correct time. Striding briskly through the living room, he sought out the handed clock that hung above the dinette table. It read approximately the same time. He was _much_ later than he had expected. It was almost four in the morning.

Chagrinned that he hadn't made an effort to be quiet, he padded softly to her room, surprised that her bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Pushing lightly on the door with the pads of his fingers, he hesitated, entering only long enough to determine that she had not reengaged the barrier that had banished him when he had first arrived.

She lay tangled in the sheets, her hair a piece of the night spilled across her pillows and her face the pale moon, serene in sleep. Without consciously deciding to do it, he crept across the room, his mismatched eyes fixed on the tiny fluttering of her dark eyelashes. He was at her bedside before he realized it, sinking into the mattress as his gloved hands threaded through her thick hair. Stirring, she mumbled in her sleep and turned toward him, blinking groggily into the deep shadows of the room. He realized that she probably couldn't see him, so he spoke quietly.

"Hello, Sarah."

"Jareth?" she murmured as she propped an elbow under her and leaned toward the sound of his voice. "That you?"

"You were expecting someone else?" he asked archly and received a pillow in his face. He smacked it out of the way, but Sarah was undeterred, swinging it around again and pegging him in the shoulder. Laughing lightly, he eased off the bed, stealing an unsupervised pillow in the process and dropping it on the floor to reduce her ammunition. "If you only intend to abuse me—"

"Do you realize how _long_ you've been gone?" Sarah's voice did not have the playful lilt that he had expected; it was rough with worry and exasperation. With a vicious twist, she snapped on the lamp that sat on her beside table. The room was instantly flooded with a warm yellow glow.

"Now, precious, there is no cause for histrionics. It is a mere few hours past midnight—"

The pillow hit him in the face again with more force than previously, and she lurched out of bed, facing him in nothing but a form-fitting tee shirt and panties. Unfortunately, he wasn't given a chance to appreciate them. "Two days!" she shouted, flinging her arms out to the side in an angry gesture, and he could see the whites of her eyes ringing irises that shimmered an unearthly green. "And what did you do to Hoggle?"

Jareth could only stare at her in shock. "Are you accusing me of—" he began to demand when her first statement sunk in. "Two days? Not possible."

"It's Thursday night, Jareth… or Friday morning," she growled, her body veritably vibrating with tension. "You left on Tuesday. And I haven't been able to reach Hoggle since Wednesday morning when the boy was _still running_."

Before she could find something more hazardous to throw, he grabbed her shoulders and peered down into her face. Her anxiety was etched in the dark circles under her eyes and saturated her short breaths. She had been _worried_ about him; for that reason alone he would overlook the accusation regarding the Dwarf. Guiding her back toward the bed, he sat her down and loomed over her, his hands still firmly grasping her shoulders.

"Sarah, calm yourself. Mischief may be at work, but it is not of my doing," he said sternly, his mind churning with implications. Draconus was at the top of his list of suspects, manipulating time to his own advantage while he was in the Underground and unaware of it. The sneaky little cheat. Next time, he'd have to be much more specific about the rules. "Two days should _not_ have passed, and as for Hogshead—"

"Hoggle," she corrected him tersely, though some of the fight had eased out her frame.

"Yes." He tossed his wild hair dismissively. "I haven't seen him."

She sighed heavily and leaned her forehead against his chest. "I was worried," she mumbled against the breastplate of his Goblin armor and then yawned widely. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her close, he felt a surging thrill when she mirrored the gesture by looping her arms around his hips.

"That was not my intention," he said by way of apology, carefully masking his irritation and rising frustration with Draconus' game. So, the King Under the Mountain had stolen two more days, leaving him with what, three left? And two jewels? The plight of a traitorous cowardly Dwarf was the furthest thing from his mind. Shifting his grip, he sat on the bed beside her and drew her to his side. Her easy acceptance was gratifying and encouraging, though it did little to lessen the desperation that had once again taken root in his heart. Had Draconus staged his latest summons? It was possible, and wouldn't have been the first time. Usually, however, he was in on it.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, despising himself just a little for the slightly pleading edge to the question that was supposed to be casual and carefree. He smiled down at her as she yawned again, nodding.

"I suppose," she mumbled through another long, gaping yawn, just barely covering it with a hand that she had freed from his waist. He would rather have been treated to a view of her tonsils than lose that soft pressure. "Goodness knows why."

He chuckled, propping his chin on the top of her head. "Ah, that would be my charming personality and devastating good looks," he said, meaning every word. It seemed like a good idea to remind her, all things considered.

Snorting, she shook her head and patted her hand against his chest. "I did miss you," she said, "ego and all." She sobered quickly and met his eyes, a shadow stealing across the humor in their verdant depths and smothering it like a snuffer putting out a flame.

Concerned by the sudden change, Jareth opened his mouth to question her, but never got the opportunity. Her lips met his with earnest pressure, her tongue pressing through them even before his eyes slid shut. Thoroughly content to let her ravish him, he fell backward on the mattress, dragging her down with him. She swung one leg around to straddle his hips, never breaking the kiss. His gloves vanished with a half-formed thought, and he buried his bare fingers into her hair, his neatly trimmed fingernails scratching against her scalp. Angling her head, she paid special attention to the corner of his mouth, her tongue teasing the crease before sliding along his bottom lip. Her fingers plucked at his armor and twisted around strands of his hair, and pinned as he was to the bed, he could do little but moan happily and press up against her. She nibbled along the line of his chin, sending waves of gooseflesh cascading down his arms and across his chest, but when her teeth found the lobe of his pointed ear, nearly undoing him with one sharp tug, his arms tightened reflexively, holding her still as he rolled them over.

Jostled loose from one of the more erogenous bits of his flesh, Sarah managed to squeak in surprise before he returned the favor. His sharp teeth scraped at the column of her throat, his tongue following in a soothing path until it found the shell of her ear. Blowing softly over its folds and crevices, he suckled on the lobe, pressing his hips against her to show her how undeniably he wanted her. Beneath him, her body shuddered and shook, and an odd gasping giggle burst out of her throat. Taken aback, he released her earlobe and craned his neck to examine her face.

"Tickles," she giggled apologetically as she wiggled distractingly beneath him. "And something hard is bruising my chest."

"Your _chest_?" he asked, raising an affronted eyebrow. What about his—

"_Yes_!" She rolled her eyes and squirmed a hand between them, pulling the necklace Draconus had given him from under his clothes and wrinkling her nose. "What _is_ this?"

Jareth eyed the gaudy jewel, excitement tightening in his belly like a coiled spring.

"Didn't it used to have more?" she asked, unknowingly echoing his thoughts, though with much less enthusiasm. Only the diamond remained, winking brightly in the soft light, its flawless white center refracted dozens of times as it cast shards of rainbows on her comforter.

Laughing in delight, he kissed her soundly, then whisked her off the bed to spin her around the bedroom in a fast-paced waltz that left them both breathless. He twirled her in a tight circle, then sent them careening onto her bed, collapsing on the mattress as it bounced under their combined weight.

She was laughing breathlessly, her arms still locked around her shoulders, as she gasped, "What was that about?"

In lieu of speaking, he was about to kiss her again when her mouth split into an enormously loud yawn. She released him, throwing an arm over her face to cover her mouth, and rolled to her side.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sleeve of her tee shirt as she buried her face in the crook of her elbow. "Haven't slept well these last two…" She looked at him askance and flushed. He grinned, showing his sharp teeth and refusing to pretend that he didn't know what she had meant, but hadn't intended to say. She really was quite forthcoming when sleepy. "Anyway, I need some decent sleep."

"Very well." He stretched out next to her, shifting his body along with hers until they were both properly aligned on the bed. It wasn't his preferred place to sleep – he'd much rather have dragged her to the living room where he could make a proper bed out of cushions and blankets, but he didn't want to push his luck. Willing away his Goblin armor, he replaced it with her bathrobe. They could pick up where they had started later; for now, he was willing to bask in the contentment that only almost-won bets and serious kissing could bring.

Sarah groaned and slapped a pillow over her face. "Jar_eth_! What do you think you're doing? And can you do it in something _other_ than just my bathrobe?"

He snagged the forgotten pillow from the floor and stuffed it under his head, rolling onto his side to regard her with curious eyes. "Why does me wearing your bathrobe offend you so, dear Sarah?" he asked as he bent one knee and propped that foot behind his other knee. One green eye appeared from underneath the pillow, then quickly disappeared.

"You know what? Fine." She wrenched the pillow off her face and glared at him. "If _you_ don't mind your kibbles and bits dribbling out of my bathrobe, then _I'm_ not going to complain." With that, she leaned up on her forearms, adjusted the remaining pillows to her liking, and flopped down with her back to him. "Good night, Jareth. Though, I should really send you back to the couch."

"No, you really shouldn't," he said as he snuggled up behind her and snaked an arm around her waist. As he drifted off, he wondered at the phrase "kibbles and bits" and how it applied to him, making a mental note to ask Sarah in the morning.

* * *

Sarah blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through her bedroom window at an unfamiliar angle. With a sickening jolt, she realized that it had to be very late in the morning, and that Phil was going to _kill_ her. Kill her until she was _dead_, as he liked to say. Scrabbling frantically for the double-crossing alarm clock, she noticed that a hand not her own was cupping one of her breasts and a bare leg was thrown over her equally bare thigh. Craning her neck, she spotted Jareth, the owner of said hand and leg, lying behind her and snoring softly into half of her pillow. She was torn between outrage at the liberties his sleeping hand had taken and relief that his arrival had not been a dream. Relief won out when she remembered that she had turned off the alarm because she was not in any of today's scenes and did not have to report to the studio until Monday morning.

Slumping back into her pillow, she gently moved his hand to her waist and smiled foolishly up at the crack in the ceiling. She had forgotten how nice it was to wake up beside a man. Careful not to jostle him, she stretched luxuriously and ran her fingers through her hair, scratching her scalp. Her head felt clearer this morning, as if she had been walking through a fog bank for the last few days and had finally found the sunshine.

Despite her best efforts, Jareth stirred against her, his hand sliding up her ribcage and his leg curling around hers. Though he was still mostly asleep, parts of him were quite awake. Sarah chuckled to herself as she captured his roving hand, considering taking a peak to see exactly what it was that he was so unashamed to cover. His lack of modesty was still unnerving, but she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. No man who wore pants like his had anything to hide.

"May I ask what is so funny, precious thing?" he murmured against her ear, his fingers threading through hers as he nuzzled her hairline with his long nose. He sounded sleepily offended and was not at all shy about the state of his body.

"You may not," she said archly, the effect ruined when his tongue slid along her sensitive earlobe and sent her into a fit of giggles. "Jareth, that _tickles_!" Squirming out of his grasp, much to his groaning displeasure, she climbed out of bed and shot him a mock pout. The odd necklace, a white faceted gem on a chain, caught her attention. It had had three gems on it at one time, she remembered. Where had the others gone? She didn't like the look of it, and not simply because it wasn't aesthetically pleasing. It bothered her at an instinctual level. "That's such a strange necklace. Why do you wear it?"

Jareth fished the chain out of the wide gap in the pink bathrobe, holding it with one finger and eyeing it with distaste. "It is an ugly thing, isn't it?"

"Then why wear it?" she repeated. The gem winked at her, catching the sun and spinning rainbows across his handsome face. She smiled softly and wondered if maybe they could make the whole long-distance relationship thing work after all. She could leave the window open and remove the screen altogether. After a few more lessons, perhaps she could learn how to shape shift and fly to Labyrinth to see him. It didn't seem all that impossible in the bright light of a new day with him gazing up at her as if she were the only woman on earth. And if it didn't work out, well, that was life, right? But at least she would have given it a try. Jareth seemed very much worth a try.

Then a thought struck her, and the smile faded. Before she could truly commit herself, there were a couple of issues that had to be resolved. She decided to broach the subject before she did something potentially foolish, like have her wicked way with him or relinquish her heart.

"Jareth," she said, then sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it. "Hoggle said something odd the other day."

"Hedgewart _is_ odd, among other things," Jareth quipped, but his eyes had shuttered with wariness.

"He warned me against you." He snorted, and Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Are you surprised? But he said I was nothing but a 'prize' – I think that was the word he used. Why would he say that?"

Jareth stared at her in silence for a long moment, and his sharp features seemed to become more avian, his blue eyes glinting with golden flecks. "If I had heard him say that, then I could tell you exactly where the little scab would be."

"Don't you threaten him," she snapped. "He was only trying to look out for me, and he has good reason to think the worst of you." As Jareth's face began to pucker into a petulant pout, Sarah steered the conversation onward. "And the Goblins mentioned a game… an important game. What did they mean?" Magic tingled at the base of her skull, and she released it in her next demand. "Tell me the truth."

Jareth opened his mouth, but he seemed to be struggling against speaking the words. His jaw worked several times before his eyes widened and a full sentence was dragged out of him.

"You _are_ a prize," he ground through teeth that he was trying to clench. Glaring at her, he shot out of bed and wrapped the robe's belt around his waist, tying it with an angry jerk. "For a bet." Clamping his jaw shut, he marched out of the room, and furiously disbelieving, Sarah stalked after him.

"I'm a _what_?" she shrieked after him, hot on his heels. "Jareth, come back here!"

"Prize!" he hollered and then let fly with a fierce string of words so quickly that they were almost unintelligible. "I'm going to skewer those little cretins and hoist them onto the wall of the Goblin City as a warning to _scabs who can't keep their mouths shut_!"

"What _bet_?" She grabbed his shoulder, and he spun around, fixing her with wide, frantic eyes swimming in molten gold. His wild wispy hair was growing heavy with white feathers, but she was too furious to care. "Tell me!"

"You are to be mine, precious, if I win. Just one more heartfelt kiss—"

"_Yours_? As in, 'one of us forever'?" At his hissed affirmation, she stared at him in mute shock, his betrayal shaking her to the core. Her lips felt numb and her vision began to tunnel as her heart beat heavily against her ribcage. For a moment, the air felt too thick to breathe. When she spoke again, she hardly recognized her own voice for the ice that coated it. "And if you lose? What then?"

The despair that filled his eyes was black and turbulent, and this time, he seemed to be struggling to say something as opposed to holding it in. With an inarticulate cry, he kicked one of her dinette chairs and sent it flying across the room and into the back of the couch. "Sarah!" he finally cried, stretching his arms out to her in a pleading gesture, but she evaded them with a quick side step.

"My life is not a game!" she shouted. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't _want_ to go to the Underground forever? That perhaps I had a life up here that I wasn't so keen to leave behind? I'm not a fucking _prize_!"

"No, Sarah!" He made another grab for her, and she darted out of his reach. "You don't understand!"

Dashing for the living room, she skirted around the couch, placing it between them. It wasn't much protection from a man who could conjure magical crystal orbs or turn into an owl, but it was better than nothing. "Oh, I understand plenty. And I want you out of my apartment!" She shouted the last words with the thunder of her fury, only distantly aware that her entire apartment building shook.

He reeled back as if struck, grabbing at the dinette table as his corporeal form began to dissolve. "Sarah, _please_ just…"

"_Out_," she hissed.

His voice faded as the last traces of him vanished, and Sarah burst into hot, noisy tears.

* * *

A/N: Big thanks to my betas leannansidhe1228 and thoughtfulillusion, and of course to my readers and reviewers!

Yet another chapter named after the title of a song – this time by the band "James".


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